How Sherlock got his skills (and a boyfriend)
by BelstaffJumper
Summary: Teenlock AU: Sherlock inadvertently sees something he wasn't supposed to see in the boys' locker room. He's surprised to learn that he does have a preference after all. He develops a crush on a certain boy. Meanwhile, he decides it's time to learn how to defend himself against the school bullies. Love, martial arts and how Sherlock became what he is now. M for content.
1. Summer break

**A/Note:** My Beta has officially retired from editing my Johnlock stories :( so all mistakes will be all mine. I hope this will live up to my previous readers' expectations. As usual, I will try to post a chapter a day. But if I do miss a day this time (life has thrown a few curved balls lately), never fear; the story does have an end ready, I just need to do the final editing as I post them.

I challenged myself to write an AU teenlock story (but aren't all Johnlock stories themselves already AU?) and this is the result. I know it has been done before, but I hope the journey is still enjoyable. I feel a bit on edge about this, but I'm going with the fact that the age of consent in the UK is sixteen. This story is a bit more "lemony" than my usual, so I'm hoping you (Johnlock fans) will enjoy it. If you're not into Johnlock, do yourself a favor and don't read it.

For those of you who might not know it yet, per ACD's canon, Sherlock learned "Bartitsu" (which he misspelled as "Baritsu"). Ever wonder how he learned it? Read on! :)

This has not been Brit picked, so please excuse any errors about the school and the language itself.

Steamy times ahead. Enjoy!

BJ

* * *

.

 **1\. Summer break**

'Goodbye Freak! Have a good Summer!'

 _Tedious! Leave already, so I can let myself out._

The boys left, laughing, leaving Sherlock inside a locker. A gift for their last day of school, Sebastian said. Sherlock was not worried. He had taken to adding a hidden pocket on the inside of all his jeans' waistbands to keep his multi-purpose tool. It was a flat heavy duty one that housed a strong plier. Being locked up worked in his favour; the boys found this highly amusing and satisfying in itself. Also, they were lazy; this required no effort on their part and they didn't want to break up a sweat trying to beat him up. So he kept this a secret by maintaining his usual behaviour during the proceedings and, once alone, bending the latch and putting it back into shape.

The laughter was dying in the distance, so it was safe to pull out his tool. He sighed, he knew this would take a while. But before he could do anything, he heard footsteps again. A different boy walked in and turned towards the bank of lockers across from Sherlock's. The lockers were elevated, to allow for benches right below them, freeing floor space at the centre of the room. From his position he couldn't see who that was, as the venting slots angled down. He could see the rugby uniform though, which was enough information for him to keep quiet. Most of the boys on the team picked on him.

He rolled his eyes. _Now I'll have to wait for him to leave before I can let myself out._

The boy undressed quickly and walked away towards the showers. Sherlock didn't understand why exactly, but he blinked repeatedly, his eyes darting everywhere.

He sighed. _Well, at least I can still fit somewhat comfortably in here. But if I end up growing up as much as Mycroft, this might become a problem. I won't have enough room to actually work on the latch. I'll have to ask father again about taking classes with Mr. Bart._ He started making a list of skills that might possibly come in handy at school. _Martial arts. Unlocking doors. Parkour. Turning every day objects into weapons and tools. Climbing walls - with and without ropes. Without would be more useful, of course._

As the list grew, he was taken by surprise by the boy's return.

The rugby player turned away from Sherlock and removed the towel from around his waist to finish drying himself. Sherlock's right eyebrow rose as he recognised the reason for his earlier - for lack of a better word - embarrassment. _Huh!_ \- he did have a preference, after all. The boy's backside was quite a sight; what he could see of the back and the thighs were muscular and tanned. And in between... a paler bit of skin, twin round shaped, perfectly smooth. The view affected his breathing, making it shallow. It was soon covered with boxer shorts, followed by a pair of jeans. The metal walls around Sherlock felt warm. The boy paused with a t-shirt in his hands.

'Hey,' another voice came from the entrance.

'Hey,' he answered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, _Dear God, how many more are coming in? Classes are over! If they're going to carry on a conversation in this manner I'm going to die of boredom._

'Thought I'd catch you before you left. Good practice today,' said the voice.

'Em, thanks. We missed you out there.'

'Yeah, sorry I missed it. I was only able to glance at it once in a while through the classroom window. The coach always makes the last one fun.' He stepped in. 'Anybody else in here?'

'No, everybody already left. I waited for you for a while like you asked, but it was getting late, so I came down to shower.'

'Hey, what are you doing afterwards? Now, I mean?'

'Em, not much, really. Just going home, why?'

The newcomer approached. 'I was just thinking. Maybe- would you like to hang out?'

'I-'

The other boy was getting really close so the shirtless one took a step back towards Sherlock. Once they were about a foot apart, the newcomer reached for the boy's bare arm, rubbing it. 'Maybe come with me?' He got even closer, and slowly slid his hand up towards the shoulder. The boy's breathing was louder now, making his exposed muscles move and goose pimples spread throughout his back.

Sherlock could sense the fear and tension coming from the shirtless boy and his own breathing was just as laboured. There was something dangerous about this newcomer.

'My parents won't be home until six,' the other said quietly. He got closer still and now placed both hands around the boy's waist, towards the back. 'We could do whatever you want,' he whispered, sliding his hands up and down the tanned skin.

Now Sherlock heard the unmistakable sounds of kissing. The oxygen supply seemed to have diminished inside the locker, his own breathing matched the rapid and loud panting of the boys below him. He was mesmerised by the hands sliding up and down that bare and muscular back in front of him. He followed them with his gaze and could almost feel what that skin must feel like. The metal walls were hot and closing in around him. He was sweating.

The newcomer slowly sat on the bench behind him, pulling the half dressed boy to straddle him as they embraced and kissed. Sherlock could now see the mop of blond hair that crowned that back. He could also see how the boy on top ran his left hand through the other's hair. The blond one broke the kiss and whispered, 'I've never done anything like this before. With a bloke, I mean.'

'I know. Let me be your first, then. Please, John. Come with me.'

 _John. John. I know this voice. Rugby. Blond hair. Left handed. Voice._ Sherlock's eyes widened. _The boy that sits next to me in Chemistry classes! John Watson!_ He frowned, _But he's always dating one girl or another. Who's the other boy?_

In between kisses, the other said, 'Please John (...) I'm going to join (...) the Army (...) in a month and I don't know when I'll see you again.'

John stopped and pulled away, 'You're joining the Army? You're leaving?'

'Yeah.'

'What then?' He got up. 'What about me?'

Sherlock had already narrowed down the list of possibilities, yet it still surprised him. Mr.-Perfect-rugby-star-player-and-captain, Allan. He also stood up.

'John, I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier-'

'You think you can just come in, do whatever you want with me and leave?'

'Please, John, it's not like that. You're very important to me.'

'So important you didn't think to tell me that? And you waited until today for this?'

Allan tried to hug John, but was pushed away. 'No, all you want is to get a leg over. Leave me alone!'

Allan reached again and hugged him. John fought a bit, but Allan kept him this time. 'No, John, John. Please. You are important to me, I swear. I didn't tell you because I was afraid.'

John stopped struggling.

'I was afraid that this was a mistake, that you didn't want this. I'm afraid once I leave you might end up meeting someone else. You'll forget me.' He dropped his voice to a whisper. 'John. I'm in love with you.'

John was breathing hard.

'I wish I could stay, but I don't have much of a choice. Please John, come with me. You don't need to do anything you don't want to, I promise. I just want to spend some time with you before I go. We can never be free here at the school.'

John pushed away. 'And we really shouldn't be doing this here.' He finished getting dressed quickly. 'People could walk in anytime.' He sat down and started putting socks and trainers on.

'I know. Sorry. I just- I couldn't resist seeing you like this.'

'Shut up, Allan. Not here.'

'Come with me then?'

John paused and sighed, looking down towards the floor. He nodded.

Soon they were gone.

Sherlock stood there blinking.

...

He was finally on his way home, his wet shirt sticking to his back as he walked. _Me? Back. Hands. Skin. Hugging. Kissing. Me. Back. Fingers. Hair. Muscles. Me. Him. John. Allan and John. Me? Back. Hands. Skin. Hugging. John. Muscles. Skin. Him. Beautiful. Back. Tanned. Hands. John._

He never thought he would ever be like the others around him, guided by the hormonal phase of puberty. There were the expected inconveniences of course, but he thought he was different; that he would never actually find a specific individual compelling in any way, shape or form. Any interaction fuelled by hormones was just messy, involved the disgusting exchange of bodily fluids and, most likely, required an actual relationship. And he certainly didn't want to relate to people. People were boring and annoying.

There was much to think about. This was a two cigarette problem. He'd have to get his secret stash out once he got home.

...

Sherlock sat under the bridge near his home, on a smooth rock by the brook. This was his smoking/thinking spot; quiet, secluded, away from disapproving eyes. The familiar scent of damp and decaying leaves added to the constant sameness of the place, giving him stability whenever he faced chaos; cigarettes helped him lock himself inside his mind.

 _John Watson._ The boy was in the rugby team, but he had never picked on him, like most of the others. On the contrary, he was usually polite and everybody seemed to like him. Next year, he would most likely become the new team captain, now that the current one was graduating. Not that he had ever paid much attention to sports, but it was impossible not to hear about it at school. Especially from girls gabbing away everywhere he went.

John had transferred to the school two months after the term had started last year and, as Chemistry classes happened in the lab, everybody already had their seats established. Most of the others avoided Sherlock; he had a history of making them uncomfortable with what he could tell about them with only a glance. So John took the only available seat, next to him. Sherlock tried to ignore him; all that he was was very clear. And boring. And potentially dangerous.

 _Family not rich (second-hand store clothes and old rucksack in a new school), practices sports, ah, stereotypically trying for the rugby team (pamphlet in pocket). Didn't have enough time to get ready this morning, missed shaving in a few spots, small cut on the upper lip: possibly a delay in using the loo. Not an only child then, has sibling. Even though his clothes are second-hand, they fit him, they are his, not a hand me down, therefore, either a sister or a younger brother. Hasty school switch, but sibling has not accompanied him, so it wasn't a move that involved a change of jobs of one of the parents. So he had issues at the other school that required a transfer. If only he had issues, most likely a sister, otherwise there's a higher probability that he and his brother would've transferred at the same time, to the same school. Overly polite. Possibly has gotten into trouble for previous bullying history? Passion for rugby especially suggests he is accustomed to violence, perhaps enjoys it. Callused/split knuckles show he is indeed accustomed to fighting. One more reason to avoid - much less encourage - interaction. Or read him out loud. Boring! Not worth it._

That resolve lasted all two seconds before the words came out of his mouth. To his surprise, he didn't get punched for it, nor did John get angry, but quite the opposite. He responded with astonishment and - dare he say - admiration? He seemed truly impressed.

From then on, John sat next to him in Chemistry classes. Sherlock still tried to ignore him, suspecting the polite behaviour to be a ruse to lure him into a trap. But he always managed to say something funny and/or intelligent, which never failed to surprise him. Sometimes, even draw out a chuckle from him - _that_ was something. Who would've guessed there'd be more inside that head than just sports and girls, after all?

And apparently, not just girls.

...

That night, for the first time in his life, he found himself fantasising in bed. He was a bit disgusted with himself afterwards: he was no different from the other teenagers after all. Yet, that did become a constant occurrence from then on.


	2. A not so boring Summer

**A/Note:** Thanks **RPbogal,** **RavonKnight** and **Amestrisay** for folowing and favoriting this story so early on (!), and thanks **deppfan16** and **irishjedi4life** for following it too.

Word of the day: Montage!

* * *

.

 **2\. A not so boring Summer**

 _'All right, let's start with the basics. Let's go over proper ways to punch first.'_

 _'A punch? How difficult could that be?'_

 _'Down on the ground, Sherlock. I've warned you: if you want me to teach you, you follow my instructions. I won't tolerate back talk and you can loose the attitude. Anytime you do that, it's push-ups for you. But since this is your first day, I'll go easy on you. Ten push-ups.'_

 _..._

 _'To pack more force, here's how to punch. Don't pull your arm back, you only waste time and all it does is tell your opponent what you're going to do. This is a karate punch. Start with your fist by your waist, palm up, and as you straighten your arm rotate your fist and move it in a straight line. Hit with the knuckles of the first two fingers, forming a straight line of arm, wrist, fist. Once you're close to the target, do a final and quick twist of the fist while contracting all your muscles. It's the final contraction from your core that holds the power. Bruce Lee could hold a fist two inches from his opponents, but once he finished, they were flying backwards. Don't be upset if you don't get to that, though. He was extremely talented and gifted.'_

 _'He did kung fu, no_ _t karate.'_

 _'Twelve push ups, Sherlock.'_

 _..._

 _'Mr. Bart, do you know how to unlock doors?'_

 _'Why Sherlock, are you planning on making a career out of cat burglary?'_

 _'No, the boys locked me in a cleaning cupboard once and I had to wait until the cleaning crew came to let me out.'_

 _'Well Sherlock, it just so happens that I do. As a boy I was fascinated with Houdini...'_

 _..._

 _'Could you modify two of my tools in this set to unlock doors? Sir.'_

 _'I'm not sure how small they would need to be, but I can give it a try. I have some files in my basement that might work.'_

 _..._

 _'Sherlock! What did you do to our front door?'_

 _'Why do you assume it's something I've done?'_

 _'I doubt a burglar would have enough finesse to pick our lock. I'm telling father once he gets home.'_

 _'Go eat some biscuits and leave me alone, Mycroft.'_

 _..._

 _'Sherlock, do you want me to schedule a haircut for you today?'_

 _'Em, not today mummy. I'm going to Mr. Bart's.'_

 _..._

 _'Chin-ups, Sherlock! Run! Abs! Get your skinny arse up that wall!'_

 _'And how am I supposed to do that?'_

 _'Fifteen push ups for that, Sherlock. When I tell you to do something I fully expect you to do it. Now!'_

 _'But you still have to teach me how!'_

 _'Which I will, after your twenty push ups.'_

 _..._

 _'Sherlock?'_

 _'Yes, mummy?'_

 _'You're eating!'_

 _'Yes? So?'_

 _'I've never seen you eat like this!'_

 _'I'm hungry, I eat. When I'm not hungry, I don't.'_

 _'Oh, these classes are marvellous! Love, we need to keep Mr. Bart as his teacher.'_

 _'Agreed, Dear!'_

...

 _'How can I unlock and start cars without a key, Sir?'_

 _'Why would you ever need to know that, Sherlock?'_

 _'Emergencies?'_

 _'Of what kind exactly?'_

 _'Nothing sinister or unlawful, just curiosity.'_

 _'Hm. Maybe later. Right now, ten chin ups!'_

 _'Ach.'_

 _'Ten more for each complaint, lad!'_

 _..._

 _'How would you fight against someone that had a weapon?'_

 _'Depends on the weapon. If it's a gun, don't. But if your life is really in jeopardy...'_

 _..._

 _'Sherlock, your hair is a disaster, you need a haircut.'_

 _'I have to go to Mr. Bart's, father. Not today.'_

 _..._

 _'The best defence is always to avoid, deflect and back away from arguments before they escalate. Keep in mind, a physical confrontation will only cause resentment and bring even more aggression from the others.'_

 _Sherlock understood his reasoning but privately didn't think negotiation would ever be possible against those under developed excuses for brains._

 _..._

 _'Look at me in the eyes, Sherlock. If you keep looking down at my hands and feet you might miss a high punch, until you feel it on your ear. Plus, by looking at me in the eye you might be able to read what I'm about to do. It takes time and a lot of practice, but it will be as if I were telegraphing my moves to you. If you're lucky and have the talent, it might only take you three years.'_

 _..._

 _'Sherlock, you seriously need a haircut.'_

 _'And you seriously need to get back to your diet, Mycroft.'_

 _..._

 _'Again?'_

 _'Muscle memory, Sherlock. Our goal is to make your body react instinctively. And stronger, with twenty five push ups.'_

 _..._

 _'Don't give me that embarrassed face, Sherlock. Do you or do you not want to learn how to fight on the ground? If the boys bring you down and sit on top of you, how are you going to get out of it? If you can manage to get me off of you, you'll be ready for them. Come on now! Kiss your embarrassment goodbye and straddle me.'_

 _..._

 _'How does one fight against multiple opponents at the same time? Sir.'_

 _'Move around quickly Sherlock, non stop, to keep your opponents grouped, or better yet, in line. Avoid at all costs being surrounded. One or two strikes to disable one, then concentrate on the other. Make each strike count. Here's how we're going to train for that...'_

 _..._

 _'That's it, Sherlock, you've got it!'_

 _Sherlock smiled, doubling up to catch his breath._

 _'Now let's try to cut that time down by ten seconds.'_

 _Sherlock's smile faded._

 _..._

 _'Sherlock, I'm proud of your progress this Summer. Do let me know if you ever apply what you've learned, I'd love to hear about it. I wish your father would allow us to continue with our training throughout the year.'_

 _'I've asked him, but he wants me to concentrate on my studies. He did say we can continue next Summer.'_

 _'I'll be looking forward to it.'_

 _'As will I.'_

...

For his part Sherlock was very pleased. First and foremost, he had achieved all his goals for the season. He was confident that he could handle Sebastian, even though he was a bigger and stronger fellow. He was much better prepared for anything the boys threw at him. But more than anything, there was a strong sense of personal accomplishment, that he had learned so much in such a short time.

The stronger he got everything became physically easier. He quickly learned that rope climbing was much harder than it looked, but was able to do it after a few weeks of push-ups. Thanks to all this, Sherlock had developed muscles he had never expected to have. He was still thin as a rail, but found out that he too, could be strong. He had grown, as noted by the length of his jeans. Undoubtedly, his exercising regimen helped with that too, in more ways than one. Every day of physical activities left him hungry and he actually ate ravenously once he got home. His fuel intake was finally adequate for his growing body.

Sherlock was slightly ashamed of the fact that he had also let his hair grow throughout the holiday. He had never thought of himself as vain. But he noticed how John had carded his fingers through Allan's black curls and had, unconsciously at first, stopped getting haircuts. His hair had curled up aggressively by the end of the Summer, so he got a trim to give it more shape and not look so obvious about trying to grow it. It did require a little more care than he'd like, but he felt it actually worked better with his face; the fringe helped in shortening its length.

His parents were a bit baffled about the change in his appearance ( _since when did he care about his hair or the way he looks?_ ), but happy that he was eating properly now and hadn't complained - too much - about being bored this past Summer. They were enthusiastic about letting Sherlock train with Mr. Bart every Summer from now on. Mycroft merely smirked, as if he were privy to a secret. His knowing smile was annoying, as if he knew. _There's nothing to be known._

Sherlock had surprised himself with his creative capacity, imagining numerous scenarios involving a certain - sometimes shirtless (and sometimes not just shirtless) - blond boy. This was also baffling and annoying. It's not like he expected anything different to happen. No, Sebastian and other idiots would pick on him, he would be called names, he would be bored at school, and that was it. John Watson may or may not be in a long distance relationship with Allan. Sitting side by side at Chemistry classes would be the most they would ever have in common. He had no illusions. There would be nothing new. Nothing would ever change. Yet...

For the first time in his life, he experienced chills in his stomach at the mere thought of the first day of school.

* * *

 **A/Note:** Thought I'd show you instead of telling you. Please let me know how I did and review? Thanks!


	3. The new term

**A/Note:** Thanks to **Lalidra102** , **TheCauldron** and the **guest** who took time to leave me a review. I really appreciate it. I liked how the montage turned out, but it's hard to tell if it would make sense to everyone else as it does to me.

All right, first day of school...

* * *

.

 **3\. The new term**

'Sherlock? Wow, you look so different!'

Sherlock looked up and became immediately aware of his own heart rate. John Watson was dropping his rucksack next to him and climbing onto the stool, his jeans straining at the thighs. He found himself suffering of yet another inconvenience of this hormonal phase: his brain staggered and he couldn't speak when it counted. He had read of such effect, but had never experienced it before. John was tanned and also seemed to have grown a bit over the Summer. He looked even stronger than last term, his biceps visibly bulging under the sleeve hem. His hair and eyebrows were bleached by the sun, looking gloriously blonder. He had clearly spent a lot of time outdoors. _Calluses on hands, roughened skin on fingertips, slightly stained by dirt. Partial tan, hair, bulked up since last term: not a leisure holiday or work out, but work. Landscaping._

'I didn't know your hair was so curly, you've always had it so short! Did you have a good Summer? You seem to have gotten some sun too.'

Sherlock desperately tried to kick start his mouth. 'Yes, I did. It was good. Summer, that is.' He was disgusted with himself, _Dear God, could I at least be able to string one sentence together? Blasted hormones!_

John chuckled, 'You're still not much of a talker, though. Good to know some things never change.'

Sherlock battled his tongue into working, but 'Yours?' was the best he could manage.

'Good, thanks for asking. Got a Summer job doing landscaping; it was gruelling but not too bad. Managed to save some money for Uni. But you probably already knew that, didn't you?'

Nothing came out of his mouth, so Sherlock smirked instead.

John arched his eyebrows, 'How about yours?' He scrunched them, 'You look so different and it's not just the hair. I think you're taller. Did you work out?'

'Hm, not exactly. But I was more active than usual, so to speak.' He was relieved to finally sound more like himself.

John was about to say something, but the teacher called out for attention and class started. Sherlock was simultaneously relieved and disappointed. Usually he was fascinated by Chemistry classes, but today he was unable to focus. He was distracted and overheated the whole time.

'Sherlock? Are you all right?' John whispered halfway through.

'Hm? Yes, why?'

'Your cheeks are a bit red and your breathing is a little shallow. Are you sick?'

He was shocked that it showed. 'I don't think so.'

'You know, if your breathing doesn't get better, you should go see the nurse. My sister had pneumonia last year and the way you're breathing right now sounds just like she did.'

That unexpected comment had come so out of nowhere that Sherlock just stared at John.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to be meddling. I'll shut up now,' John turned away, swallowing and unconsciously moving his eyebrows.

'No. It's. Good.'

John looked back at him.

'Thanks. I will. Talk to the nurse.'

John gave him a small smile, which caused a strange dip at the pit of Sherlock's stomach.

He leaned conspiratorially, 'Not a problem, mate. Let me know if you need help walking over there. My sister did. I had to put her arm on my shoulder and hold her by the waist, nearly dragging her across the floor.'

Sherlock made a huge effort not to widen his eyes at the image of himself being held like that by John Watson.

'Sherlock? I _really_ think you should go see the nurse after class.'

The best he could manage was to nod and turn his head forward again. He needed to get a grip.

...

Two days later, Sebastian found him outside the Lab building and blocked his way, staring at him from head to toe.

'Freak? What are you doing with a different haircut? Trying to blend in?' His mates chuckled. 'Sorry, that's not working. You're still freaky.' He gave Sherlock one of his annoyingly condescending smiles.

'And your cologne is still stinky. Sebastian, would you kindly move so I can continue to my next class?'

'Ooooh, cheeky are you? Just because you got a bit taller? No freak, I don't think so. I think I'll have to teach you some manners - again.'

'Sebastian, this is tedious.'

'Oh, but necessary. I think I won't just lock you up this time. I'll personally teach you how to keep your mouth shut. It's been a while since your last lesson.'

'I wouldn't if I were you.'

'Why? Who's gonna stop me?' Sebastian grinned and spread his arms, looking around. He stepped closer and swung his arm.

He would always start with a slap, then another, and another, before getting into anything more serious. They were more annoying and humiliating than punches. This time, Sherlock was prepared. He held up his hand and blocked the slap. In a quick and fluid motion, he pulled his opponent forward and out of balance, then twisted the wrist towards the bully's forehead. Sebastian cried out in pain and was brought down to his knees, as his mates gasped. He let go once Sebastian was on the ground.

He stared up in surprise, then his face darkened, 'What are you playing at?' He got up, rubbing his wrist. 'You'll pay for this, freak.'

'I'd like to see you try,' Sherlock replied with a smirk.

Sebastian took a step forward, swinging his arm for a punch. Sherlock sidestepped, blocked the punch and struck him squarely on the nose, drawing blood. That was surprising, he didn't expect the punch to be so effective. Unfortunately, he also saw the blood in Sebastian's eyes. This was different than other times, and not only for the obvious reasons. _Keep calm_. He felt confident he could handle Sebastian, but he hadn't trained against multiple attackers. Not that they hadn't considered it, but there was only so much training he could do with only Mr. Bart for sparring partner. Sebastian advanced trying to hit him, but Sherlock blocked blow after blow, backing up, feinting, side stepping. He countered every hit with a slap instead of a punch, just for fun. _Payback._

One of the other boys held his arms from behind, causing a momentary panic in him. _Stupid, I should've paid more attention to the others._ Sebastian grinned and pulled his fist back. Using the boy holding him as support, Sherlock pulled his legs up and kicked with both feet. One foot caught Sebastian on the chin, sending him flying backwards and knocking him out cold as he hit the wall. With his momentum on the way down, Sherlock crouched and flung the boy holding him over his head. The bully was lucky enough to land on the grass, but the impact still left him winded, dazed and groaning. Finally the other three boys came out of their surprised stupor and sprung towards Sherlock, intent in beating him to a pulp.

'Oi!' someone shouted, but he didn't look around. He needed to pay attention to the fists swinging at him.

* * *

 _'Move around quickly Sherlock, non stop, to keep your opponents grouped, or better yet, in line. Avoid at all costs being surrounded. One or two strikes to disable one, then concentrate on the other. Make each strike count.'_

* * *

He positioned himself so one attacker was blocking the others, then moved forward as the boy was just pulling his arm back for a punch. Sherlock aimed for the chin, to purposely knock him out with a single strike. In no time the second opponent went around his falling mate and hit Sherlock hard on the cheek. He felt a bit dazed and could feel it bruising already. But before a second strike was flung he ducked and countered with a punch on the stomach. With the boy's forward momentum it packed a lot more force; he fell to his knees and heaved, completely out of breath and uninterested in continuing the fight. Still, Sherlock knocked him out for good measure.

He was breathing a little hard, but more in excitement of his first real fight successfully won. In a flash he remembered there was yet a third boy and swung on his feet, stance ready.

'Wow! That was brilliant!'

John Watson was standing over an unconscious boy, with his mouth open, fists still clenched at his sides. He was the one that had yelled earlier.

'That was amazing! Sherlock,' he frowned deadpan, 'what _exactly_ did you do this last Summer?'

Sherlock was pleased with the compliments and smiled. He ran past him, 'Run first, compliment later.'

He heard John's laughter and running steps right behind him.

'I thought it would be useful to learn a thing or two about self defence,' he said over his shoulder as they ran.

Once they had run past the rugby pitch and were near the locker rooms John stopped him, panting and leaning against the building.

John grinned at him. 'I saw the whole thing. These idiots are cowards, five to one? I ran once I saw Burt holding you. But you had it all under control, even if I hadn't stepped in.' He shook his head, 'I still can't believe it!'

It was a good thing he was already flushed from the fight and the run. Later on today he'd have to stop by Mr. Bart's and thank him. For more reasons than one.

'How's your cheek?'

'Mm? Oh, this?' He touched his own face checking for blood. 'It's all right. I've had worse.'

'Let me see it,' John held Sherlock's arm and made him turn so they faced each other. Then with a surprisingly light and gentle touch on his jaw, had him turn the face a bit to the side. Sherlock's eyes darted everywhere, just as erratic as his heart rate. The fingertips were warm, dry and rough against his skin, with an earthy scent, sending a flash of heat inside his body.

'Still, you should put some ice in it. Come here, we have an ice maker in the rugby kit room, let's get you a bag.'

He followed John into a small room packed with shelves and sports equipment, his heart jumping to images of possibility. _Being alone with him in a small room._ John took a small plastic bag and filled it with crushed ice, 'Unfortunately, we do use this machine a lot. It does help with keeping bruises from swelling and going too black,' he tied a practiced knot. 'Here, hold this up until we get to our classes.' He slapped Sherlock's arm, 'Come on, we'd better hurry. We don't want to run into those bastards again!'

Sherlock didn't know what to say, so he just walked briskly to catch up with John.

'Seriously, Sherlock. Meet me after classes today, I want to hear all about how you learned all this.' Both entered the building, still grinning. 'The way you moved around them was brilliant! They simply couldn't...'

The fight had been highly satisfying. But more than his success, he was thrilled that John had seen it and was praising him for it. More than that, he had come to help him. More than that, he was now walking by his side, laughing with him.

 _That_ was something.

...

The rest of the day passed in a blur, all Sherlock could think of was that he would be meeting John after class.

.

* * *

 **A/Note** : Tomorrow we'll learn a bit more about Mr. Bart. And the technique Sherlock used. And please review. :)


	4. A walk in the park

**A/Note:** I didn't see I had more favorites until after I posted my last chapter. So thanks to **Bailey Railey** , **Nickylove** (good to see you again!), **alliwantisclairity** , **crazydaisy-in-tha-house** and **vgerd** for favoriting my story so early. Thanks for the reviews. Love you guys!

If you haven't yet, just google Martin Freeman young. There's one picture of him as a teenager and he did look adorable. At least I think it's him. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

.

 **4\. A walk in the park**

Sherlock could see John waiting outside through the door's window, one leg propped up against the wall, rucksack hanging on one shoulder, thumbs hooked on the pockets. He was looking away, his head in profile, unaware of Sherlock's stare. The jeans were thick and utilitarian, not fashionably thin and tight, but they still emphasised the thigh muscles straining through the rough fabric. John was much more muscular than he looked while clothed (he knew). The veins in his forearms drew attractive lines underneath the tanned skin, covered with the soft fuzz of bleached blond hair. His nose had a perfect line, straight, no bumps. John kept his hair longer and fuller on top, a barely distinct part on the left, and very short on the back. The line of his nape was graceful as it came out of his t-shirt.

A strange flutter spread across Sherlock's stomach. For some reason a strong urge to put his nose on John's nape came over him. He took a deep breath ( _nothing will ever happen_ ) and stepped out.

'Hey,' John smiled, already turning to walk alongside him.

'Hey,' he tried to sound calm.

'Do you want to go to the café over there?'

'Hm, maybe not there. Just in case Sebastian frequents it too.'

'Good point. Let's just keep walking for now.'

'Sounds good.'

'All right. Now explain: how did you learn all that in only three months?'

 _Start from the beginning, stay simple._ 'My next door neighbour is an ex-service man, discharged after an injury in battle. He's been bored and I needed skills. I asked him to teach me and this is the result.'

'Jesus, I'd love to take classes with him too.'

'Why?' he frowned. 'I don't think you need them, from what I've seen. Plus, you're not a target like me.'

'It was just so impressive, you know? I should've guessed a soldier would be involved.'

Sherlock threw a discreet sideways glance. John's face had gone somber for a second, then he lightened up again and turned, smiling brightly. 'What kind of fighting was it, anyway? Karate? Jiu Jitsu?'

'Mr. Bart jokingly calls it "Bartitsu" just because it's a combination of things he learned on his own plus his military training. There's a bit of everything in it, but what I used today was Aikido, Karate and Krav Maga.'

'I've heard of it. Don't Israeli soldiers do Krav Maga?'

Sherlock was pleasantly surprised. 'Yes, as a matter of fact. It's used in combat training nowadays. And self defence in general.'

'This neighbour of yours, how old is he?'

'Maybe in his forties? Why do you ask?'

'Just curious. Why would he agree to teach you?'

'I kept him from being bored, he kept me from being bored. And beat up.'

John laughed. 'Sorry if my question was weird. I just worried for a second, that's all.'

'Worried? About what?'

'Suspicious interest in a young'un.'

Sherlock paused and it took him a couple of seconds to figure out what John had meant. When he did, he was a bit disgusted. 'Good Lord, not Mr. Bart! Noo! Nope.'

'What is his rank?'

'Major. But he doesn't like to be called that anymore. I think being discharged left him disappointed, so "Major" reminds him too much of what he can't do anymore. Shame, civilian life just doesn't provide an outlet for his skills.'

'Would you teach me that move with the wrist? You know, the one that made Sebastian kneel?'

Sherlock moved his head back, a slight frown crossing his brow.

'Pleease? I'll walk your dog,' he wiggled his eyebrows.

'I don't have a dog.'

'It was a joke, Sherlock.'

'Oh.'

'Well?'

'Well what?'

'Would you teach me?'

'Yes, yes, of course,' he added hurriedly.

'Let's go to that park over there, then.'

'What, you mean now?' Sherlock was taken aback, that was too spontaneous. He usually liked planning things in advance.

'Sure, why not? Unless you have to be somewhere else?'

'No. Not really.'

'Well, let's go then.'

Sherlock paused and smiled as he watched John walk away. He'd have to buy Mr. Bart a bottle of scotch or something later on.

...

 _On second thought, this might've been a bad idea._ Sherlock found himself facing John and holding his wrist. To say he was embarrassed was an understatement.

John looked in both directions, also visibly embarrassed, his forehead and eyebrows crinkling and moving at rapid pace. He swallowed and said, 'Okay, this is awkward and embarrassing. Just show me what you did and let's get this over with.'

' _You_ wanted to learn.'

'Yes, teach me already. OUCH!' John was kneeling on the grass, mouth agape. 'How-?'

'Physics, John. Your wrist can only bend in so many ways. Stand up again. I'll do it slowly.'

John rubbed his wrist and stood up, then held it up again.

Sherlock repeated the technique, slowly this time.

'That is amazing! Can I try it on you?'

'Sure. Grab my wrist. Like so,' he adjusted John's grip. 'This was a variation of a technique, so I had to get you off balance by pulling you like this. This way you can hold my wrist properly, like so. Now if you twist and move it towards my forehead like this,' he guided John's hand, 'the only way for me to avoid the pain is to try to counter the twist by kneeling down.' Sherlock now knelt down. He smiled impishly, 'Physics!' *

'Wow. That's amazing!'

'Isn't it? Mr. Bart is a good teacher.'

'Almost changes my mind about the army.'

'Huh? What do you mean?'

'Nothing, just being-. Well. Thanks for showing me.' He sat on the grass, rubbing and rotating his wrist.

'Not a problem,' Sherlock copied him. He liked this, this camaraderie. It surprised him how easy it was to talk to John, once they got started.

'What else have you learned?'

'Em, a mish mash of "combat" skills, anything needed for a teenager's survival amidst enemy lines.'

John laughed. 'Could you teach me all you've learned?'

'Why?' Sherlock frowned. 'As I said earlier, you don't have my problems.'

'It's just interesting, you know? I've only learned the wrestling basics at my previous school, but in the end I could only pick one sport. Training, competing and playing take up too much time. I liked rugby better, so I dropped wrestling. I don't have the money to actually take martial arts' classes, but I've always wanted to learn.'

That was too tempting of an opening to let it pass. 'If you, em, really want to uh, sure, I can teach you what I've learned.'

'Would you? I'd love that!'

'You would?'

'Of course! I just wished I could offer you something in exchange. I can't even offer homework help. You're smart already, you don't need my help.'

'Oh, there's no need for that.' He was pleased, John had just complimented him _on his intellect_ , something that, his parents aside, no one ever did. Then he frowned. 'You're smarter than you let on. How come?'

John gave him a small smile. 'Survival. I've transferred to this school only last year. Let's just say I know what you must go through with arseholes like Sebastian. I've always fought the bullies - we had history -, but they just never stopped. It was only getting worse, I had to get out of my old school. I had a chance for a new beginning, I took it. Last year I made a studied effort to blend in and I was shocked that it worked. It actually worked! I guess it helped that I got into the rugby team, but still!'

'How did you do that? "Blend in"?'

'You may laugh, but misspelling notes, using bad grammar here and there and not having perfect grades went a long way.'

Sherlock frowned and wrinkled his nose, 'That is disgustingly appalling and degrading!'

John laughed at Sherlock's scandalised face. 'I knew they picked on you, but I had never seen them actually trying to hit you.'

'Thankfully, only a few of them get down to that level.'

'I just never imagined they'd dare to touch you.'

'Why do you say that?'

'You're smart, but not in a nerdy way, more like you're in a different plane altogether.'

'That's the strangest and also the most unrealistic notion I've ever heard. Since when intelligence alone stops punches?'

John laughed. Sherlock smiled, pleased that John had recognised his superior intellect. Nobody had ever talked about it in such a positive way. He was about to tell him about what they used to do to him and the skill he had developed last year, but suddenly remembered what he had seen last term and refrained.

'You seemed a bit - leery - of soldiers.'

John's smile faded and Sherlock regretted his words. He preferred seeing John smiling. 'A bit not good, was it? My question?'

'No, no. That's fine. I just had some issues with one, that's all.'

'Oh. Right.'

But before he could press for more information, John looked up smiling again. 'Can we make plans then? For those self defence classes?'

Sherlock was shocked this was actually going to happen.

John's smile faded. 'Sorry, I don't mean to be pushy. If you don't want to-'

'No!' Sherlock said a bit too loud. He toned it down. 'Not a problem, as I said. When and how often would work for you?'

'Mm. Given my last year, with school and the rugby practice, I think it'll be more realistic once a week. Perhaps during the weekend? Like Saturday afternoons?'

'Works for me.'

'Deal then,' John proffered his hand.

Sherlock looked at the outstretched hand. He usually avoided- 'Deal,' he shook John's hand. He felt an electric current run from his hand, up his arm, through his body, all the way down to his toes, spreading goose pimples from his thighs down to his legs as his hair stood up.

John grinned and wiggled his brow, 'I'll pay you in chocolate.'

Sherlock smiled in turn, relieved that John hadn't noticed the upheaval inside his body. 'I accept nothing less than Yorkies, John.' **

He made an alarmed face, 'I was going to pay you in Toblerones!'

'Humpf. Haggler.'

'What? Blasphemy! They are superior!'

'I'm a purist when it comes down to chocolate John, no additional frills required.'

'Suit yourself, you're pricing yourself down, mate.'

They snorted and started laughing. _This might turn out to be a great year, after all._

...

Mr. Bart was very pleased. And gave him some pointers regarding the fight.

.

* * *

 **A/Notes:**

 ***** That is an Aikido move. I figured that, if he had to teach someone, he'd be talking like that and demonstrating how it works. It's not really the kind of thing that would make sense if I tried to describe it, and I feared it would be just boring and unintelligible. Different teachers might do it slightly different, but similar concept, so you can see what it looks like. Check youtube dot com / watch?v=Jp8LvwfhQkM. If that doesn't work, search Aikido Nikyo Wrist lock defenses: Aikido single wrist grab self defense.

 ****** I had googled something like "Chocolates in England" to see what would be a credible brand. I stumbled upon this article and was rolling and laughing towards the end (I just looked it up again, but didn't laugh as much). I was disappointed at first that Yorkies are simply milk chocolate, but then it made sense to me that Sherlock would be a purist. Plus, I understand. Good milk chocolate is also my favorite (Dove, by Nestlé). metro dot co dot uk /2015/07/07/british-chocolate-bars-ranked-from-worst-to-best-5276158/


	5. The training

**A/Note:** Thanks **K** **aorilamb** and **Melusina's Descendant** for favoriting this story this early. Hope all of you who already did will continue to enjoy it. I usually like to reply to my reviews but for some reason they show up on my email but not here. So thank you!

* * *

.

 **5\. The training**

Just as Mr. Bart had warned, the boys were resentful of the fight and the taunting and name calling was vicious now, which Sherlock promptly ignored. They didn't mess with John; he was the rugby captain and they knew what he could do on the field. Sherlock was just pleased they didn't attempt fighting him again. He guessed it helped that John was at his side at least some of the time now.

People thought it strange that John was his friend now. John made no excuses and made it clear that, to him, Sherlock was just like everybody else. "Smarter, if anything." So most of the others that taunted Sherlock toned their name calling down for most part, especially the ones in the rugby team - John had told them about the fight. A huge bonus.

The strangest thing though, was that Sebastian was quiet. He didn't voice insults like the others, but seemed to be brooding, studying him. His silence helped to keep the others from trying to fight him again, as usually they just followed his actions. From time to time, Sherlock would catch him staring at him, and there was something in those eyes that made the hair on his nape stand up. Sebastian was a dormant volcano, simmering and gathering strength to erupt anytime now. He really needed to watch his back.

...

Sherlock was equally loving and regretting the classes. They met every Saturday afternoon and practiced at John's backyard, on the grass. John's parents worked on Saturdays and his sister usually went out, so they were mostly on their own. He had debated about asking Mr. Bart for extra classes, now that he had a sparring partner, but gave up on the idea. For one thing, it would attract his father's attention, who had insisted this fanciful practice would take away from his academic progress. He would certainly demand they end this "waste of time". Another reason, he'd rather have John just to himself.

The pro of the whole thing was obvious: they had developed a friendship. A friendship! Something that Sherlock had never imagined he'd have; something he had never imagined he could possibly want, never mind enjoy. But enjoying it he was.

John was exceptional: he accepted him as he was and never thought of him as "different", "strange" or "freaky". Much the opposite, he seemed to admire Sherlock's intellect. For the first time in his life, he had a first hand experience on what being appreciated by a peer was like.

The con of the whole thing: so close, yet so far away. John was currently dating yet another frivolous girl. He still couldn't determine what exactly had happened between John and Allan, only that he wasn't amenable to kissing other boys, apparently. He watched attentively, but John never showed any interest in other boys. None of them ever made him turn his head like girls did. Not even any of his other team mates. The only possible conclusion: he was straight and Allan was a pushy bastard, who got away with ( _hopefully just_ ) kissing John.

Being in such close physical contact was delicious, yet torturous. And they hadn't even covered floor wrestling. Sherlock never mentioned it; he thought best to keep to moves that didn't require so much contact. Those had been embarrassing enough with Mr. Bart, it would be nearly suicidal attempting them with John. He would certainly be the first person to ever die of embarrassment if they were to try it.

...

'That was fun, Sherlock. It's actually fascinating to learn how well the techniques work.'

Sherlock sat down next to him on the backdoor step. 'Those were my thoughts exactly. I'm usually not interested in sports or anything that physical, but I found some of the techniques to be pure physics.'

'I've noticed that.'

'That's especially true on this last throw.'

'No, I didn't mean the throw. I meant I've noticed that you're not interested in anything physical.'

Sherlock frowned. John smiled, 'I never see you show interest in anybody. This year, with your new haircut and how much you've grown over the Summer, many girls took notice.'

'They have?'

'You haven't noticed? Come on!'

'I'm really not interested. People are boring.'

'I'm "people". I'm offended, Sir,' John mockingly made an indignant face and placed a hand on his own chest.

Sherlock chuckled. 'Who noticed?'

'Several of them. I see it in our classes, I see it on the corridors. Their eyes always slide towards you.'

'But it's you they always talk to. Bloody rugby team captain jock,' he teased.

John chuckled, 'Nah, their excuse to get close to you.'

Sherlock thought best to divert the conversation away from dangerous territory. 'How are things going with- eh,' he moved his fingers in a "come on" motion.

'Maggie.'

'Yes, her.'

John smiled. 'Well, we have a date tonight.' The smile faded. 'I usually don't like to talk about this, Sherlock, but I feel I can trust you.'

Sherlock frowned at the unexpected seriousness. 'What do you mean?'

'What I'm about to tell you.' John stared straight ahead, then lowered his gaze and kicked a stone. 'I think tonight is the night.'

Sherlock still frowned. John kept staring straight ahead. _Oh_. He wished he hadn't asked. He too, stared straight ahead.

'John, I believe this is the correct application of the expression "too much information".'

John snorted and chuckled a bit. 'You're right. It's just that I'm a bit nervous, that's all. I keep getting distracted.'

'I noticed. You weren't focused at all today. Why would you be nervous? You've dated countless girls already- Oh.'

'Yes, oh.' John was beetroot red, now staring at the ground.

'John. This is _really_ not my area.'

'Things have been progressing, you know? We like each other, and our last couple of dates were pretty uh, intense.'

Sherlock stood up, he couldn't stand this. 'John, I'm really not the best person for you to talk to about all this. I think I should go.'

John stood up too, 'Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's just - I consider you a close friend, you know? Who else would I talk to?'

'You seem to have no shortage of friends.'

'Yes, but none as close. I think of you as my best friend. I'm sorry, I'll shut up about it.'

They stayed standing awkwardly, looking away from each other, not knowing what to say. Sherlock was pleased, though. John not only said he was a close friend, but his best friend.

'Oh, I know, Sherlock. Could you help me choose an outfit for tonight?'

'Dear God no, that's even less my area.'

'Look, I have a couple of ideas, all you have to do is just vote yay or nay. Please? Come to my room.'

Sherlock's stomach dropped. If only those words had a different meaning... He sighed, feigning disinterest. 'Fine. But I'm leaving after this.'

'Thanks, mate!' John smiled brightly.


	6. Bedroom access

**A/Note** : Thanks **CT-6116** for favoriting my story on the last chapter. For some reason the reviews are showing up a day later in this site. So thanks also to everybody that are following and posting guests reviews. I'm just chuffed you're enjoying it. :D

* * *

.

 **6\. Bedroom access**

He only agreed to it because he had been curious as to what John's bedroom would look like. By seeing it he could learn a lot about him. Plus access implies intimacy. John already said he considered Sherlock his best friend. And yes, he wanted to see it because-. He wasn't sure why he wanted to see it or what exactly that would accomplish, except that it was already more than he had ever dreamed, to be there, to see it. To be part of John's life.

As he climbed the stairs behind John he tried not to look up, but stare at his own feet instead. He could already feel his stomach acting up funny.

'Don't mind the mess,' John said as he went in.

The room was small, but sunny and bright, and actually neat and clean. The "mess" consisted of a few shoes thrown in a corner and a few shirts folded over the back of a chair. The most obvious thing was the amount of books crammed into such a small room. There was a short and packed bookcase with its back facing the foot of the bed with his rucksack sitting on top. There were books on the desk, on the bedside table and on shelves above the desk, as well as above the dresser, attached to the wall.

The walls were a pale yellow, the curtains white and a bit see-through, so the afternoon sun made the room cosy and a bit warm. All the furniture was mismatched, in medium to dark wood. _Inherited from grandparents._ The bed sat opposite to the door, alongside the wall and under the window. It had a dark finish, a simple headboard with a curved top and end posts capped with a decorative finial. His duvet was a plain light green coverlet, and the bed was actually made. Not just made, it was so crisply made it almost looked like he had pressed everything.

Next to the door, there was a small and modern faux wood desk with metal tubes as legs. Its surface, just like the rest of the room, was very organised. It had an old computer, a football team mousepad and a rugby plastic cup with pens and pencils in it, plus a few of his school books in a neat pile. The chair was an old migrant from a former dinning room. The bin had some school work and used tissues in it, causing the hair on his nape to rise. Next to it, an old dresser with more books on top. The bedside table had a lamp, a pile of three books (the top one a mystery novel) and a box of tissues (which he tried to ignore). There was a closet door by the entry. On what was left of shelf-free walls, there were football and rugby posters of John's favourite teams, showing muscular men running or scoring goals. He turned around and saw John studying him, a smile as if asking, "what do you think?"

'I didn't know you had such a voracious appetite for reading. One can tell a lot about a person by the books on their shelves.' _And their trash. And what they put on their walls._

'What can I say? I love reading. Have a seat, I'll show you the outfits and you can vote,' he opened the (equally organised) closet.

'Fine,' Sherlock sighed, feigning boredom. He looked at some of the titles on the nearest shelf. All the books were from second hand stores. Many of them were mystery books, some sci-fi, some spy novels, quite a few about war history and weapons, but most of them were classics of literature. Definitely not what he would've expected before getting to know John. Then he looked at the shelves above the dresser. He saw many books about Science in general, but also, Biology, Genetics, First Aid, Microbiology, _Infectious Diseases?_ There was one book in particular that caught his attention, though. He stood up and pulled it out. It was an old beat-up second ( _more like fifth_ ) hand copy of Gray's Anatomy. He leafed through it, then looked up at John. Whose forehead was rapidly shifting.

'Why would you have this book?' _Oh, how could I have missed it?_ 'You want to be a doctor! Our first day of school you were running a diagnose on me.'

'Yeah. That's why I work as much as I can during Summers. Also, that's why my parents work second jobs, so both of us can go to Uni. My Gran says she'll help me with what she can too, but it won't be much.'

'Always something!' Sherlock muttered, tilting his head in a small shake.

'Huh?'

'You've never told me that.'

'Well, it hasn't come up in the conversations, that's all. How about you? Do you know what you want to do?'

'Not sure yet. I like Chemistry, but I wouldn't follow an academic career - I have no patience for teaching -, research seems too boring, and a regular eight-to-five-job too stifling.'

'Well, what do you like to do? Aside from learning survival skills?'

'Mostly, I like solving puzzles and conquering challenges. I don't mean jigsaw puzzles, but mental ones, where you have to think and use logic to solve them. I enjoy being able to know all there is to know about an individual using only visual cues.'

'Yeah, I've noticed that.'

Sherlock thought he detected apprehension in his tone. But then John said brightly, 'All right, outfit number one!'

They heard the door downstairs open and slam shut. 'Johnnyyyy!'

John cursed under his breath. It was his sister Harriet and, from the way she had spoken and the sound of her steps, she wasn't sober.

'Hey Johnny, can I- ooh, what are you doing here? You've graduated from backyard to bedroom, huh?' Her speech was slurred and, from where he stood, Sherlock could smell the liquor in her breath.

'Harry, it's only four in the afternoon!' John said.

'So? The night is young, then. Hey, can I borrow twenty quid?'

'Sorry Harry, I need that for tonight. I have a date with Maggie.'

'Oooh, and I thought this here was your date already, sitting pretty in your bedroom, clothes strewn all over the bed...' she swayed and touched Sherlock's arm. He recoiled at the smell and her words.

John tugged her arm and pulled her gently away, 'Harry, I think you should stop for the day. Listen,' he put his hands on her shoulders, 'why don't you go have a shower?' He held her face protectively, to get her attention. 'Then you should take a nap.'

'Noo Johnny, don't be such a spoiler,' she pushed away. 'Just ten, then. Pleease?'

'No Harry, I'm not helping you getting even more sloshed. That's not good.'

'You're such a spoiled brat, you know? Mum and dad always give you everything you ask for. What do _I_ get? "Harry, why aren't you more like your brother? Harry, you're such a good-for-nothing".'

'They've never said that, Harry!'

'But that's what they think!' she yelled, pushing him again. 'All because of you, and your perfect behaviour, perfect grades, perfect life,' she swung her arm indicating the perfectly aligned books on the shelves, grouped not only by subject, but also size and authors. She turned and walked away, still yelling abuse.

John slammed the door. Sherlock contained a small intake of breath. Behind the door, there was a "Join the Army" poster. It featured handsome young recruits of all forces in dress uniforms, three men and one woman, saluting. John still had his hand flat on the door, then he sighed and turned. 'Sorry about that. She's not like this when she's sober, but... I hope this is just a phase.'

'I don't think it is and I don't believe you think it is either.'

'Yeah. You're right.' He sighed, 'Agh, I just wished there was something I could do, you know?'

'It's her choice whether or not to seek help, John.'

'I know. But she's still my sister.'

Sherlock waited a few seconds, then asked. 'Why that poster? You're not thinking of joining the army, are you?'

'Well, to be honest, I was. A while back. I still haven't decided.'

'I thought you had issues against soldiers.'

'Not in general. Just one.'

Sherlock couldn't think of anything other than a direct approach. 'May I ask what happened?'

'You may, but I just don't want to talk about it right now.'

The door downstairs slammed again, rattling the entire house.

'Right now, clothes!' He brightened a little too forcedly.

...

Sherlock lay in bed awake that night, trying not to think of John's first time with a girl.

He still couldn't tell whether or not John had a preference, or if he was bisexual or if anything had actually happened with Allan. Given the posters on his walls, well, it was a possibility. He wondered if there was a correlation between them and the used tissues. Even though the bedroom screamed of straight testosterone-rich masculinity, there was also the ambiguous possibility of an appreciation for the male body. All the players, as the young recruits in the army's poster, were muscular, handsome, and most of them had dark hair.

Now that he had seen John's room and bed he had new material for his evenings.

.

* * *

 **A/Note** : I found myself in that position before, dying to see someone's bedroom. Not sure what that would have accomplished except for feeling all warm and fuzzy for having seen it. Has anyone ever felt that way too? Let me know, drop me a line. :)


	7. Lovers' lane

**A/Note** : Enjoy two chapters almost in a row (last night and this morning). A little surprise this time, as the plot thickens. ;)

* * *

.

 **7\. Lovers' lane**

The following month was hellish for Sherlock. The date had gone extremely (excruciatingly) well and John was _in love_. Sherlock covered his ears and yelled that he didn't want to hear the details, "too much ugh-y information John!" Maggie was always at John's side, so he really didn't have time alone with him anymore. More often than not John would cancel their training so he could spend more time with her on the weekends. Who had he been kidding? John would always be in demand, either by a girlfriend or his numerous other friends. He was only Sherlock, the freak, the loner.

And to make matters worse, Sebastian was back to being annoying. He hadn't tried anything ever since the fight, but now had adopted the tactic of making remarks regarding Sherlock's sexuality, while the others laughed and joined in. As usual, he simply ignored them. As long as they didn't try to beat him, it was all fine.

Rugby season was in full gear, so Sherlock found himself with no other alternative but to attend the boring games, usually in cold and miserable weather, just so he could see John ( _desperation, more like it_ ). He wouldn't admit it, but he was actually enjoying watching them. John looked adorable in his kit, he was very skilled and his thighs were magnificent. He almost wished he could play, just so he could tackle John himself.

He didn't like seeing John getting hurt and always struggled with the urge of running down to the pitch whenever he got under a pile-up. Yet, Sherlock felt a strong surge of pride whenever John showed minute signs of being in some amount of pain on the following day, but never complained or asked for pity. Most people didn't even notice it. He just took it stoically.

What impressed Sherlock the most though, was that by watching the games he understood why John was chosen to be captain. It wasn't just because he was liked; clearly he was the best player in the team. With a second's glance around the pitch he was able to make quick decisions and call out plays that led to tries and those, more often than not, led to victories. But more than anything, rugby brought out a different side of John he hadn't seen before. He had leadership skills that showed on the field. He had a commanding presence that came out naturally.

He liked that.

...

A few weeks later, Sherlock saw something disturbing: Allan was in the audience, in camouflage uniform. Ironic how a pattern supposed to make one blend in with the environment and disappear only made Allan stand out like a red flag.

Allan looked even stronger now, more grown up and, Sherlock had to admit, dashing and handsome in his fatigues. He attracted a lot of attention, everybody still remembered his time as the team captain. There were a lot of people who wanted to talk to him, especially the girls. Yet, he kept his eyes on the field. John had also seen him, and would glance in Allan's direction from time to time with a furrowed brow.

Afterwards, Allan spent some time in the locker room, talking to the coach and the team. It angered Sherlock to think he was using this opportunity to watch John undress and shower. He had never been that blatant and disrespectful himself ( _that one time was unintentional_ ). Then everybody gathered outside and talked of going out to celebrate the win and catch up with Allan. John held Maggie's hands, but she was smiling and shaking her head. They exchanged a goodbye peck as Allan watched them surreptitiously.

Sherlock saw John clearly looking for him too, in seemingly a plea for help. He was torn for a moment, all he wanted was to go to him. But something rooted him to the spot, something that twisted his insides. Instinct kicked in and somehow he understood he would regret having to face his rival ( _but can you call him a rival when you are not a contestant yourself?_ ). He would never be able to just sit and watch Allan eating John with his eyes without exposing him - and therefore his own _best friend_ \- to the whole team. He would never be able to keep his mouth shut. John would never speak to him again.

Most of the team went to a café nearby and Sherlock followed and watched from the outside. John lingered a bit, waiting for the others to sit, so he could take a spot farther from Allan ( _good!_ ). All of them spoke animatedly, while John would smile and even chuckle a bit from time to time. He kept trying to distract himself, but his eyes always landed back on Allan. Who in turn laughed and told stories, joked with his former mates, but always kept his head turned towards mainly one direction.

The others slowly trickled out, until there were only the coach, Allan and John left. Eventually all three stood up, said their goodbyes and parted, the coach going in the opposite direction, alone. Sherlock was right behind them, in the shadows.

They talked and laughed, strolling with their hands in their pockets. They walked up to Allan's car and something changed in their postures. There was an awkward air to them. John leaned against the car and Allan faced him. John's chest visibly moved, and he kept looking to either side as they talked, his forehead crinkling. Allan stood motionless, his chest also moving, his eyes never leaving John's face. After some time, John lowered his head, swallowed and nodded. Both got in and drove off.

Sherlock panicked, he hadn't counted on them driving away. So he did the only thing he could think of: it was time to put some of the _other_ skills he had learned with Mr. Bart to use. This was an emergency, after all. First he looked around for an older car with the right kind of lock. Then he ran to it, ripped one of his shoelaces off, made a small loop in the middle, inserted into the door like dental floss and pulled the lock up. Once inside, he pulled out his multi-purpose tool and unceremoniously broke the ignition - there was no time for fiddling with the wires. Using the flat screwdriver, he started the car.

He drove quickly, and soon spotted their car in the distance. Allowing a discreet space between them, he followed. They seemed to be just driving around aimlessly and slowly.

After about fifteen minutes, the car started driving out of town. His stomach dropped when Allan slowed down and parked in a dark area between the trees. He drove past them, but couldn't see anything. He parked a bit further down the road and got out. It took him a while to walk back to their car; his shoe kept coming off - there was no time to put the shoelace back in place - and yet, he had to move carefully so as to not make too much noise. This only increased his sense of urgency and despair: the distance, the time, the separation, the not knowing.

It was nauseating. He hated not knowing. He _had_ to know.

He crouched. His eyes were used to the dark by now, but there was nothing to see: all the windows were fogged up. He jumped; John's hand had just slammed against the rear passenger window, and the car was shaking ever so slightly, in a clear rhythm. The hand's position indicated that John was reclining on his back, alongside the backseat. He didn't know how long it lasted, but it felt like an eternity. The hand had come down, and after another interminable wait, the car started and drove off.

Sherlock stood there in the dark, shivering. His hands shook as he lit up a cigarette.

...

The following day the police found a stolen car abandoned in a deserted area just outside town. 'Most likely teenagers taking it for a joyride,' they said. 'Buggers ruined the ignition.' No fingerprints were found.


	8. The break up

**A/Note** : Thanks **wibblywobblydragonlady** (good to see you again!) for favoriting my story. Many of you felt really sorry for Sherlock, and one guest reviewer was very mad at John for cheating on Maggie. Don't worry, John felt appropriately bad and did the only decent thing he could do about it. Needless to say, eventually things will get better for Sherlock.

But it'll be a while. Bwa-ha-ha. ;)

* * *

.

 **8\. The break up**

For the next couple of weeks, John had a perpetual frown on his face. To Sherlock, that would indicate that whatever had happened that night, the experience had not been a positive one. So most likely, that could be the last they'd see of Allan (he hoped). He tried to read and pry and question, but without success. John got easily irritated these days.

Sherlock could not stop blaming himself. He could not shake the notion that, had he been by John's side that night, he would have never climbed into that car in the first place.

Maggie and John were also arguing a lot and, by the end of those two weeks, had a very public break up in the cafeteria. She cried out, stood up and ran away, in tears. After a while, John too got up and walked away, red faced, in the opposite direction. There were a few seconds lull, then the cafeteria exploded in a buzz of gossip. John, the much coveted rugby captain, was apparently solo again.

...

John opened the door and gave him a small smile.

'Thanks for coming, mate. I thought maybe you had given up on our Saturday trainings, with everything that happened in the past month.'

'And a half.'

'Yeah, well, sorry I missed many of our trainings to be with Maggie. Had I known we would break up this soon... The whole thing was such a mistake! Anyway, thanks again.'

Sherlock grunted, not knowing what to say. 'Where do you want to do this? From now on it'll be too cold and muddy outside.'

'I thought we could use the basement. My dad made part of it into a telly room, so there's carpet and not much furniture down there. Come on.'

Casting for something neutral to say, the best Sherlock could come up with was 'How's Harry? Is she home today?'

John sighed without looking back as he walked down the steps. 'No, she's not home. I tried to stop her from going out drinking, but we had yet another fight and she went anyway. I don't know why I bother. She's probably already pissed by now.'

 _Bad mistake._ Sherlock didn't know what else to say, so he kept quiet.

'You've also seen the break up, I take?'

'It was impossible not to see it, John.'

John snorted, 'Yeah, I hate that the entire school saw it. I didn't plan it, it just happened. I made her cry and I feel bad about it. We talked afterwards, I apologized for it but it did no good. I broke up with her. I hurt her. God, I feel awful! Everybody must think I'm a bastard. Hell, I _am_ such a bastard!'

He kept silent again. The room had only two sofas forming an "L", with a coffee table and a couple of end tables. He removed his jacket and started moving the coffee table out of the way. The carpet was too thin to cushion their falls, he thought with some disappointment. They would have to concentrate on techniques that did not involve grappling and throwing.

Once he turned around, John was sitting on one of the mismatched sofas, looking dejected. His old sweatshirt was loose on the collar and hung askew, showing off his collarbone. One arm hung between his legs as he held it with the other hand, as if wounded. His left foot was on top of the right, toes curled. Sherlock felt a pang of regret seeing him like this. He wanted to go to him, sit by his side, throw an arm around his shoulder and say "You are not a bastard. It's all fine". And kiss his collarbone.

He did nothing of the sort, obviously.

'Sherlock, I hope you don't mind, but I think I need talking more than I need sparring today.'

He was a bit alarmed, he was not good at talking about feelings. John must have read the panic on his face.

'Please Sherlock, just sit with me then. Can we just watch a movie instead? I just feel a bit - well - just not up for aggressiveness today.'

'All right.'

'Thanks, mate.'

John gathered a couple of pillows and lay on the smaller side sofa while Sherlock sat stiffly on the one facing the telly. He just couldn't figure out what else he should say or do. John was obviously a bit depressed, whether it was because of breaking up with Maggie or seeing Allan, he wasn't sure. "Seeing". _Quite the euphemism_ , he thought a bit angrily. _Star of the team, war hero airs, Mr. handsome-soldier-in-uniform showing off in his fatigues-_

'Were you at one of the last games a couple of weeks ago, Sherlock?'

Sherlock's eyes widened. Luckily, John had not turned around and had kept his eyes on the movie. It was obvious he was also thinking about _that_ night. 'Erm, I don't remember. Your games blend into one another to me.'

John chuckled, 'Yeah, that's true, you usually have no idea who we played against on the following day already. Well, that night, we got a visit from the last team captain, Allan. Do you remember him?' he kept staring straight ahead.

'I never paid much attention to sports, John.'

'Right. Anyway, he stopped by. It was good to see him.'

 _Now is the time to find out what happened._ 'Was it?'

'Yeah, everybody liked him, that's why he was captain.'

'You are the captain now, remember?'

'True,' he smiled at the veiled compliment.

After a pause, Sherlock ventured, 'Were you close friends?'

'Eh, sorta.'

After another pause, he tried an innocent approach. 'So, is he at Uni now? What is he doing?'

'He- joined the army. He was here on leave for a couple of days. He had just finished basic training and was on his way to one of the bases abroad. Cyprus, I think.'

 _Good. Far away. Stay away._ 'Are you still thinking of joining the army too?'

'I go back and forth. Not sure yet. Right at this second, no.'

'Good.'

'Why good?'

'Risky profession to be in, these days.'

'True, I guess.'

Another pause. 'John.'

'Yes?'

'Is he the one soldier you had issues with?'

John took a small intake of breath. 'That's- I guess yeah, that's him. And no, I don't want to talk about it.'

'What hap-'

'Sherlock, I _don't_ want to talk about it!' After another pause he sighed and added, 'Sorry. Didn't mean to yell. I'm just-. Sorry.'

'It's fine.' _So close, too direct._ He thought of a cliché that fitted the situation, it was worth a try. 'If you ever feel you need to talk, I'm here, John.' _No, too heavy handed, he'll see through it._ 'You know I'm not good at that sort of thing, but I can try to listen.'

John thought about it and finally said 'I know. Thanks, mate.'

Nothing else came and Sherlock tried hard not to fidget as they sat looking at the telly in silence. The room's temperature seemed to have dropped and he pulled his jacket over, like a blanket. Half an hour or so later, Sherlock glanced at John and he had fallen asleep.

John looked adorable in his sleep. He fought an urge to card his fingers through that blond mop of hair of his. It looked so soft. He used this opportunity to just look at him as much as he had longed to do. He was able to study his face, his nose, his ears, his hands, his feet. As the soundtrack for the credits swelled, John stirred.

'Mmm? Ops, sorry, I fell asleep,' he rubbed his eyes.

'You haven't really missed anything. Stereotypical action movie drivel, predictable and boring.'

'How can an action movie be boring?' he yawned.

'You should know, you fell asleep.'

John snorted, 'Touche´.' He stretched, 'You know, I've missed this.'

' "This" being?'

'This banter with you. Maggie was nice, but all she wanted to talk about was us.'

'So is the break up permanent?'

'Yeah. No point in turning back. For both of us.'

'Is there someone else?'

'Why would you ask that?' John raised himself in a half turn, frowning at Sherlock.

'You just said "no point in turning back, for both of us". It seems to suggest-'

'No, there's no one! Look Sherlock, I'm tired of thinking about it, all right? I don't want to keep on talking about it.' He turned back to face the screen.

'Fine.'

'Good.'

Another pause as the credits still rolled. 'Argh, I'm sorry. Look, it's all fine, Sherlock. I just needed company today, that's all.'

'Right. Well, maybe I should go,' he stood up, a little disappointed. Things were too strained between them with all this sentiment overload on John's part. This was most definitely not his area and he was just making it worse and worse.

To his surprise, John also stood up and held his arm. 'Hey, do you want to go out and grab something to eat? If I stay home alone today I think I'll go crazy. Mum and dad won't be home until five thirty and God knows when Harry will be back.'

John still wanted his company. He kept his smile to himself as he nodded. He could still feel the imprint of John's hand in his arm. He had missed his touch.


	9. The event in the alley

**A/Note** : Thanks **irishjedi4life** for letting me know I'm not the only one!

You guys are so quiet, please let me know how I'm doing.

* * *

.

 **9\. The event in the alley**

'So? Where do you want to go?'

'I'm not the one who's hungry John, your choice.'

John made a disapproving face. He had learned over the past months that Sherlock didn't eat much. 'I feel like grabbing a butty, would you mind walking up to the market area?'

'Your coronary arteries,' he shrugged.

'Yeah, ha ha cute.'

...

John had gone into the café but Sherlock had refused to go in. The smells of bacon always made him nauseous, so he stayed outside, sitting at a low wall across the street. The day was darkening rapidly now, with the approaching rain clouds. Sherlock partially regretted staying outside. The jacket he was wearing today was too light for this weather. He raised the collar around his neck and shoved his hands into the pockets. He was craving a smoke now. The wind picked up and he started shivering. Looking around, he moved towards the nearby alley, in hopes that standing between the two buildings would be enough shelter.

 _What's taking John so long? If only I had a cigarette I wouldn't feel so cold._

A man in his late twenties just turned into the street. He was in the process of trying to light up his cigarette by cupping his hands around the end. Usually young men in their twenties didn't mind so much if he asked for one. They sympathised with how difficult it was to buy them, as most of them had gone through the same thing in their teenage years. As long as they weren't too strapped for cash, they usually didn't mind giving one away, so it was always worth a try. If the temperature kept dropping it would be good to have one for later. He'd have to wait until he was on his way home, obviously. John disapproved of his smoking.

'Excuse me, could I please have one too?'

The man paused only a few feet from Sherlock and looked up, hands still cupping his cigarette.

Sherlock knew he had made a mistake.

...

John came out of the café and looked around. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. _He was just sitting at that wall across the street._ Wondering if Sherlock had just wandered off, abandoning him for doing something so boring and useless as getting food, John crossed the street. He felt the wind gusts and thought _maybe he's in that alley._

He turned into the narrow alley and everything stopped. His stomach plummeted. For a few agonising seconds he wanted to scream but nothing came out of his throat. About twenty feet away, behind some rubbish bins, there was a man holding Sherlock against the wall with one hand on his neck. Sherlock was struggling for breath. This sight brought up in him an overwhelming mix of feelings. Worry, anger, anxiety, urgency. All he could think of was that Sherlock needed him, and that he needed to protect Sherlock. John felt a surge of adrenaline within him. He tossed his forgotten sandwich and ran towards them. His voice came out, loud and clear.

'Oi! Let go of him!'

The man turned, momentarily surprised by the yell. John yanked him away from Sherlock and threw a punch, making his head whip back. Sherlock recognised the next move. John spun around with great speed to place his back against the man, then grabbed the arm over his shoulder and flipped him down to the ground. The man hit the cobblestones hard and was in too much shock and pain to move. John grabbed the front of the man's t-shirt, lifted his head a foot off the ground and finished him off by knocking the assailant out cold.

He turned to Sherlock, who was coughing against the wall.

'Sherlock!' He grabbed him by the arm and pulled, urging him to run towards the street. 'Come on!'

Stumbling around, they ran for several blocks, changing directions now and then. Once they had gone a long way away from that alley, Sherlock skidded and ran into a shop, dragging John along, still attached to his arm. There was a noisy bell clanging by the door as they hurriedly shut it and ran further inside, between the racks of clothing. They stopped to catch their breath, doubling over their thighs, panting. A few seconds later John managed to raise his head, only to see several women staring at them, customers and salesgirls alike. He also saw, looking around, that the racks carried women's underwear. 'Em, just looking for a gift,' he waved towards the... frilly knickers. A couple of old ladies frowned and looked away, disapproval in their faces.

'Sherlock?' He whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. 'Are you all right?'

'I will be - as soon - as I - can breathe,' his voice broke and he coughed again.

'Is your throat okay? What happened?' John tried to reach for his collar.

Sherlock held a hand up as he panted, so John stopped and let his hand fall.

'Right. Let's catch our breath and head back to my house.'

'No!' Sherlock's eyes were wide. He caught himself and tried to revert to his usual cold demeanour. 'I mean - I'm fine. I think - I'll just - go home now.'

'Sherlock-'

'I'm fine, John. Stop fussing.'

'Maybe I should go with you.'

'Not necessary, I assure you. I - I was just momentarily distressed, that's all. He was choking me.'

'All right. But it's no trouble if you want me to go with you.'

'I can go on my own. I'm just tired now, that's all.' He attempted a smile. 'We ran a lot.'

'I'll just wait until you're in the bus, then.'

'Em, all right.'

'Right. Ready?'

Still panting, he nodded.

They walked to the nearest bus stop and John fidgeted, not knowing what to say. He kept looking around, in case the man managed to walk in on them.

'Sherlock-'

'I'm fine John.'

'No, you're not fine. Talk to me, Sherlock.'

'John, stop nagging me.'

'What happened back there? What did you do? Were you reading him?'

'No. Why do you assume it was my fault?'

'Then why didn't you fight back? Was he armed? Was he trying to rob you?'

'No.'

'Was he someone you know?'

'No!' He immediately regretted his harsh tone. 'I... I'd better go, John.' Sherlock looked away, thankful for the approaching bus. 'That's my bus.' It wasn't, but he just needed to get away from John's questioning right now.

'It's just. I-.'

'I'm fine. Stop fussing.'

'Okay, all right, all right. Call me later, will you?'

Sherlock nodded, climbing into the bus without looking back.

...

Sherlock went straight to his room. He had much to think about. He examined himself in the mirror. He put his collar up again and shoved his hands in his pockets. He tried to see himself from the stranger's eyes.

 _Thin (starving?) kid, wearing old loose grubby looking clothes, dirty trainers, standing in an alley, shivering in the cold, asking for a cigarette... Homeless kid trying to get his attention? Soliciting._

He shivered remembering the eyes, scanning him with a dirty smirk. He felt naked.

 _'And what do I get in return?'_

 _He took a few steps closer and I foolishly backed into the alley. Panting. From his point of view, that was an invitation. He grinned at me._

 _'You look like you need money to get some food in you. Lucky for you, I have the worst case of blue balls. How much for a blow job, sunshine?'_

 _Bumping against a bin, I came to my senses and tried to get past him._

 _'No, that's not what I-'_

 _'What's the hurry?'_

 _He blocked my way, 'How about five quid? I can throw in a couple of fags too.' He grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand to his crotch._

 _'No, I -'_

 _'Now you have to finish what you started.'_

 _He grabbed a fistful of the clothes on my chest and shoved me further into the alley, pushing me against the wall. Holding me by the neck I just couldn't move. And what he said next was so filthy. John didn't see our hands between us, given his questions. Why didn't I react? I just stood there, paralysed. If it weren't for John..._

Sherlock shivered again, remembering the man's rough hands and what he felt under his palm. The crude words still echoing in his ears. His eyes widened.

 _Fear._

He wrinkled his nose. He looked at himself in the mirror again, angry at his own weakness.

 _Learning how to fight is of no use if you can't control your fear._

 _But how does one train for that?_

 _Face your fear._

 _\- What was it that you feared? The non-consensual aspect of it or the act itself?  
_ _\- Both.  
_ _\- Would you fear it if it were consensual?  
_ _\- Yes.  
_ _\- Would you fear it if it were John?  
_ _\- Yes.  
_ _\- It will never be with John.  
_ _\- No, it won't.  
_ _\- Sex. Why would that alarm me?  
\- Loss of control. Submission. Weakness. Pain.  
_ _\- Loss of control in front of him (if it were John).  
_ _\- I would loose his respect.  
_ _\- I would loose him.  
\- It will never be._

He looked in the mirror again.

 _Just face it. Sex will never happen to you. Much less with John._

He felt shame for his own show of weakness. And that John had seen it. He wished John could delete that.

He replayed the scenes of John fighting his attacker. John had defended him, without hesitation or fear, against an adult, stronger and bigger than himself. _Construction worker_ , his mind provided a bit uselessly. His cheeks flushed as heat pooled in his groin. John was a formidable fighter. He almost wished he could forget that too.

...

John texted but he didn't reply. And also tried to make him talk throughout the next few days. Sherlock could feel John's stares and worry. Surely he must have figured out by now what the stranger was after. But Sherlock didn't say anything else about that day. There was nothing to be said.


	10. Floor mat

**A/Note** : Thank you **Avlynn Rose** and **MissAssmerica** for favoriting my story so soon, and also, **MaxRide** , **wibblywobblydragonlady** and the **Guest** , who took the time to leave me a review. I usually try to reply directly to all, but not always people have that feature open to me. I'm so happy I captured your attention. Hope you'll continue to like it. :)

* * *

.

 **10\. Floor mat**

A month later, John was back to his normal self. Unfortunately, girls always seemed to be on their path at school, so Sherlock could never actually finish a conversation with John during the week. Occasionally John would go on a date with a different girl, but to Sherlock's relief, none had turned into an annoying full blown relationship yet.

...

'Hey, Sherlock.'

'Hey.'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, 'What's going on?'

'Why do you ask?'

'John, your face is a giant advert. You're plotting something.'

John smiled widely. 'Come downstairs, you'll see.'

Sherlock saw interlocked red, yellow, orange, blue and green rubber-looking squares on the telly room's floor. 'Where did you get those?'

'Mrs. Swanson down the street was trying to get rid of these playing mats, now that her grandkids are grown. So I took them. Now not only we'll be able to continue with the grappling techniques and falls but also we'll be able to do floor wrestling.'

'John, I don't-'

'Heyaah!' John pounced on Sherlock and flipped him spectacularly onto the mat. He settled his body at a ninety degree angle to Sherlock's right, leaning sideways on his chest, arms locked around his neck. 'I know a few wrestling moves. I want to see you get out of this.'

Sherlock was breathless and wide-eyed. This was much more contact than they had ever had. John's strong hold of his neck didn't allow for escape. But more than anything, he was held captive by a grinning John pinning him. _Pin. Right._

Struggling against the tight grip, Sherlock started snaking his left hand under John's right arm, and sinking his right elbow towards his own waist, between their bodies. Then, with his left hand on top of his own head, in one quick motion he lifted both arms and pushed his hips sideways. He slipped out of the neck lock, got away from being underneath and pinned John's neck from behind. John tapped the mat.*

They separated, panting. 'That was brilliant!'

Sherlock grinned. 'Jiu Jitsu'.

'Again! Show me.'

Sherlock's grin faded. This was going to be hard. Literally.

...

But - to his relief - everything went on without incidents. Their closeness was just too intimidating for Sherlock to feel anything but embarrassment and self consciousness. It was only later on in the evening that he nearly passed out in his most intense session to date. Now he knew what it felt like to have John nearly on top of him, holding him still.

He'd have to figure out some sort of bandaging for future training sessions.

...

The following Saturday Sherlock was on the mat struggling to free himself, when he curled over his shoulder blades, spun around behind John's back and grappled with arms and legs around him. 'Once my legs are locked around you-' he rolled over onto his own back, stretching John on top of him. Then he shook his interlocked feet '- like this -, I'm the one in control, even if I'm underneath you.' John's back was arched uncomfortably while Sherlock's forearm started snaking towards his throat.

'Tuck your chin John, don't give me access.'

But Sherlock's forearm was sweaty and slipped in. John tapped and was released. As they relaxed and John rolled away, they lay down, panting.

John frowned. 'Sherlock? Are you wearing a cup?'

Sherlock's gaze shifted sharply, his cheeks a bit hot. He had the excuse ready. 'Yes. Mr. Bart accidentally hit me on the groin one day so, as uncomfortable as this thing is, it's still better than the alternative. I don't like to practice wrestling without protection.'

'Huh. I guess you're right. Maybe I should wear one too.'

'Yes. Accidents do happen.'

'Half a mo, I still have one from my wrestling classes,' he stood up and rushed upstairs.

Sherlock remained lying on the mat. It was a good thing that the blasted contraption was uncomfortable. It was impossible to get an erection wearing that, so he remained focused on the technique itself. He had done some research as to what ballet dancers, wrestlers, gymnasts, boxers, and other athletes wore under their uniforms. He had considered the compression "belts" worn by ballet dancers, but a reviewer said "it made erections a bit less obvious to the audience, but not to his dancing partner". No, something hard like a carapace was still the best solution. He also got the compression shorts, which helped to keep the cup in place.

'All right, my turn?'

Sherlock sat up and had to contain himself. There was an extra bulge under John's track bottoms that just brought more attention to his crotch. Then it hit him, he was tackling John, like he had fantasised many nights ago. He suddenly found out that he could get an erection with the cup after all, but both battled each other and that was even more uncomfortable. Therefore, thankfully short-lived.

He felt he could've gotten out of John's grip, who was a tad too slow in reaching the front of his neck. But he thought best to give John a chance to learn the neck lock. John's legs around him were too strong for him to escape, anyway. And the only way to learn was to practice. Again. And again. And again.

...

'Mount me.' He still felt a certain perverse pleasure every time he said those words.

Sherlock was on his back on the mat, legs bent. John straddled him and reached forward towards the neck. Today John had asked him if he knew how to evade a choking hold. John was visibly embarrassed; only then it occurred to him he might have meant a choking hold while standing up, just like that day in the alley. But now it was too late.

'The key is to place your right hand cupping the opposite wrist from above, like so. Simultaneously, grab the same arm's triceps, palm up. Hook one of your opponent's foot, still on the same side. Raise your opposite hip and rotate towards the shoulder on the side you're grasping.' He easily dislodged John, and rolling together they ended up in the opposite positions. Sherlock's thighs were against John's hamstrings.**

'Wow, that was amazing!'

Those words never failed to extract a smile from him. They practiced both sides, switching roles, then escalating strength and speed as they felt more comfortable with the moves. Perhaps the strangest thing was that, by now, having gotten used to their practice, Sherlock was less keyed up, even if sometimes the positions were embarrassing and/or suggestive. He felt comfortable with John, even though he had never liked being touched much before.

As comfortable as though they were, he wasn't ready to show him the next move Mr. Bart had taught him. A variation, that required a lot of "hugging".

They finished as usual, worn out, tired, thirsty, happy and sharing chocolate. He liked this. This camaraderie. If this was all he would ever have with John that was enough for him. He was happy.

...

At night his bed beckoned him. Now he had the image of kneeling between John's legs, looking from above as he lay on his back, smiling at him. And of John kneeling between his legs, leaning forward...

* * *

 **A/Note:** Those two techniques were based on videos with the younger crop of Gracie Brothers (Jiu-Jitsu). If you're interested, go to youtube and enter:

* /watch?v=EucIOqFgfMM or type Catch Wrestling vs. Jiu-Jitsu? (Gracie Breakdown). This first one is long, but only the first 15-18 minutes show what I put in the story. First it's an analysis of the neck lock, then how to get away from it.

** Gracie Combatives Lesson 1 - Slice 1 - This one is only about 8 minutes. And they're brothers, so stop smirking. ;) Imagine our boys instead...


	11. Christmas break

**A/Note** : A guest reviewer hoped that John was very observant and had noticed Sherlock's crush. This way he would "mess with him and look for an opening". That would've been a great idea! But that's not what's happening. John observes, but he's still not seeing it. Hope you'll still like it. Thanks also **XxsayxX** for favoriting this story.

Just curious if any of you peeked at the links...

I hope the next few chapters won't feel too contrived. Let me know, I can take it. Thanks!

* * *

.

 **11\. Christmas break**

'Sherlock Dear? You seem to have made a friend at school.'

'Yes, mummy.'

'You do spend every Saturday together, I've noticed.'

'We practice the techniques Mr. Bart taught me. John wanted to learn too.'

'Ah, yes. Of course. Well, I was just discussing it with your father. Christmas break is coming up and we had expected Mycroft to be home from Uni. We were planning on having a family vacation around New Year's. It was meant to be a surprise Christmas gift to both of you, but Mycroft just announced he was invited to an influential MP's New Year's Eve Party. He says it'll be more like a job interview, so he cannot miss it. We have already booked everything to go skiing in Scotland, so we figured maybe you could bring your friend instead. This way you won't be bored with only your old folks with you. What do you say dear?'

'Not being sequestered in a lodge with Mycroft is the best Christmas gift ever!'

'Sherlock!'

But Sherlock was grinning like mad. 'I'll see if John wants to join us.'

...

'Are you kidding me? Of course I'll go.'

'Mum says you'll only need to worry about things you might want to buy for yourself over there. They'd be paying for Mycroft's meals anyway - and you don't eat as much as he does, trust me.'

'Brilliant, mate!'

'John, do you even ski?'

'I skied twice in my life and was told I wasn't that bad, so yes, I do ski.'

'We would be leaving on the twenty ninth and returning on the first. Do you think your parents would object?'

'I doubt. We never get to go anywhere nowadays, with saving for Uni and all. Are we flying?'

'Obviously, they know better than having Mycroft and I sitting close together in a car for long hours. Most likely, the plane seats are not even adjacent.'

'I love flying! It's been years since my last time!'

John sat down and looked up, forehead crinkling. 'Sherlock, I've never been to your house.'

'I know.'

'Em, is there a reason? I thought that maybe you didn't want me to meet your folks.'

Sherlock frowned, then he understood: John thought he was embarrassed of him. 'No John, it's not what you think. If anything, it's the other way around.'

John frowned, 'What do you mean?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'They can be overbearing.' _And too perceptive. With them around, I'll have to be on guard the whole time._ 'I'm just happy you won't meet my brother this time.'

'Why?'

'If you're ever unfortunate enough to meet him, you'll understand.'

...

Both boys were embarrassed as the Holmeses met the Watsons at the airport. They exchanged the expected pleasantries and finally, they were off.

'Thanks again for inviting me,' John said.

'Oh, thank you for joining us, John,' said Mr. Holmes.

'Yes dear, we should be thanking you,' added Mrs. Holmes. 'Otherwise Sherlock would be complaining that he's bored the whole time.'

'He just can't admit that he loves skiing,' Mr. Holmes chuckled.

Sherlock groaned, 'And I'm right here, so stop talking about me as if I weren't.'

...

'It's that one,' Mr. Holmes pointed.

John saw the approaching lodge and was impressed. 'Wow, it's lovely!'

Mrs. Holmes beamed, 'Isn't it, John? And the best thing is you'll be able to have your own rooms. As we had planned for Mycroft to come, we made sure not to put these two in the same room.'

Mr. Holmes turned into the driveway and chuckled, 'Yes, last time we had those two share a room-'

Sherlock unfastened both seat belts in one move and pushed John out of the car, 'John, we should get our things out of the boot,' He was slightly disappointed they wouldn't be sharing a room. _Oh well. Probably for the best._

The lodge was compact, but charming. From the entry door one could see a small kitchen that opened into a two-story sitting room with great views flanking a fireplace, with a flat screen tv above it. There was a high counter with stools separating the two areas. Facing the entry door there were stairs that led to an ensuite, as well as a small reading room with an open balcony overlooking the sitting room downstairs. Going around the kitchen, there were two bedrooms facing each other with a bathroom in between, in their own alcove.

'You two will be downstairs. Let's get ourselves sorted and head for the slopes this afternoon,' Mrs. Holmes pointed to their bedrooms.

Both bedrooms were identical; small, with a double bed, side tables, a dresser with a mirror above it and a closet.

'Wow, the views are amazing! Sherlock, this lodge is bigger than my house.'

'Not if you count your basement. I bet if you go by square footage, it'll be the same.'

John dropped his voice to a whisper, 'I still don't know what you mean, your parents are really nice.'

Sherlock grunted, 'My cross to bear.'

John laughed, 'Hey, I've got you a Christmas gift. Mind you, it's nothing much...' he trailed off, embarrassed. 'Come to my room, I'll get it for you.'

'I'll be there in a second.' Sherlock rummaged through his luggage. 'And I have something for you, also,' he said as he walked into the room.

'Wow, Sherlock, I wasn't really expecting anything! This trip is already more than enough.'

'Well, the trip was accidental; this is from me.'

They exchanged the floppy packages, wrapped in Christmas paper.

'Same time then?' John grinned. But Sherlock paused to see John's reaction.

'Sherlock! It's so soft!' John marvelled at the jumper in his hands, then holding it in front of his chest. It was a fisherman's style jumper in an oatmeal colour, with a rolled collar at the neck and two buttons at the front. 'This looks expensive!'

'Oh no, not really John. I just had good timing, finding a very good sale, that's all,' he lied. He had fretted over what to give John. He had determined that a real stethoscope would be too much, not something that (male) friends would buy each other. He searched then for the one jumper that he could picture John wearing. 'I didn't know what to get you and eh, I stumbled on this. You're always wearing jumpers, so I hope you'll like it.'

'I love it!' He took off the jumper he was wearing and put on the new one, looking at the wall mirror. Sherlock was pleased, it looked really good on him and it showed his trim physique. He was also pleased to have the image of John "undressing" for him.

'Thanks, mate!' John beamed. 'Go on now, open yours!'

As Sherlock opened his package, he found a crimson scarf. 'This is very soft too,' he said and immediately looped it around his neck.

John looked embarrassed, 'I just saw this colour and thought it would suit you. It's really not much, I know...'

'Nonsense, John. I love it.'

John smiled, unconvinced.

'I really like it,' he beamed. 'I'll be wearing it the whole Winter, you'll see.' He did love it. Of course he'd wear it all the time, _John_ had given it to him. It meant the world to him.

.

* * *

 **A/Note** : I did look for skiing places, but it was either low slopes with artificial snow in England or real snow in Scotland, with no cabins or towns around, as best as I could tell (but if I'm wrong, tell me). So this is an unnamed place that only exists in fanfiction. Oh well.


	12. The holiday

**A/Note** : Thanks **inspiremepatrick** for favoriting my story!

I got it wrong yesterday, John _sees_ , but never _observes_. At least not yet. Soon. ;)

* * *

.

 **12\. The holiday**

Sherlock started laughing and couldn't stop. John looked hilarious. After the whole afternoon skiing, his eyes were red, watery and his hair stood up from removing the wool cap. His cheeks were also red, and his expression, a mix between tired, stunned and bewildered.

'Shut up, Sherlock. For your information, your hair also looks ridiculous.'

'But your face, John!'

'Yeah well, I'm a beginner, so what?'

'Sherlock!' Mrs. Holmes touched John's shoulder. 'John, you did very well. I was impressed you could use the edges. And this is only your third time?'

'Yes it is. I'm just proud I didn't fall. I'm knackered though.'

'We all are, dear. We'll probably all have an early night.'

...

Sherlock lay awake in his room the whole night, unable to relax.

...

On the following day they headed for the slopes after breakfast. By lunch time, John spoke sheepishly, 'Sherlock, would your parents be offended if I went back to our lodge? I don't think I can handle it the entire day. I'm already knackered. Not to mention, these ski boots really hurt my ankles.'

'Of course they won't be offended, John. I'll go with you.'

'No, no, don't stop just because of me. I know you like it. I'll just shower and watch some telly, to be honest.'

'Nonsense John. Mummy and father think I love skiing, but more than anything, it was always an opportunity to get away from all the noise, from Mycroft, from the world. Out here, everything is quiet and muffled.' Just then a pair of snowboarders swished by, hollering and whooping. 'Most of the times, anyway. But don't tell them I said that.'

'All right, I won't. But I do have to remove these boots now. I don't think I can wait for your parents. If I go now, would you mind explaining it to them?'

'Of course not. I'll wait for them to come down and I'll let them know. I'll be down at the lodge in a bit.'

'Thanks, mate.'

...

Sherlock walked in and heard the shower. He was immediately apprehensive and started making noises in the kitchen so John would know he was back. After a while he heard the bathroom door open, 'Sherlock? I'm done, so you can shower too if you want.' He walked slowly around the kitchen, just in time to see John's back and a towel around his waist, as he disappeared into his room, closing the door.

Sherlock took a deep breath and got what he needed for a shower. Afterwards, he put on a dressing gown and went quickly into his room. He was just too self conscious to wear only a towel around his waist like John had done. Despite his improved strength nowadays, he was nothing like John or Allan, muscular, toned, "fleshy". Ever since they had started training, Sherlock made a decision to keep up with some of the exercises Mr. Bart had made him do. Deep down, he wanted to look good for John. Which was truly difficult, as he didn't seem capable of gaining muscle mass, and Allan was exactly his opposite. No, it would seem he would be forever skinny and bony. _Cursed genetics. At least I don't have to battle my weight like Mycroft._

He had spent hours beforehand deciding on what clothes to bring, so getting dressed was easy, fast and seemingly not at all self conscious or deliberate. Today's choice relied on simple and casual elegance: a t-shirt, a v-neck cashmere jumper and black jeans. He put socks on, he thought it would look more homely and relaxed. He inhaled deeply, then stepped out.

John was wearing a t-shirt, a sweatshirt and tracksuit bottoms. He was barefoot, and his hair was messy, still a bit damp. He was lying sideways on the sofa, watching telly. There was something about that combination of clothes that always made John look so alluring to him.

'Hey,' John pulled up his legs to give him room.

'Hey,' Sherlock replied, sitting on the opposite end.

'Were your parents okay? With me doing only half a day?'

'Obviously. This is a holiday, not a ski training camp. Mummy made me stop on the way back and get some takeaway. Are you hungry?'

John grinned, 'Starving!'

One of the things Sherlock appreciated about John was that, even if they talked about nothing, it was still fun and he always had a good time. They ate while sitting side by side on the carpet, with their plates on the coffee table. They were facing the telly; not really watching it, but chatting the whole time. Afterwards they went on a stroll at the touristy area nearby. Usually this wandering aimlessly around shops was extremely boring and pointless to Sherlock, but today it was fun because John was with him. Every little thing he'd see at a shop made him think of his friend, so he'd point them out to him. He had to contain himself, for any time John did like something, he wanted to buy it for him. Which would be awkward. He did suggest John buy some elastic bandages to cushion his ankles; he'd be able to cut enough for padding and still fit in the boots.

'Sherlock, that's a brilliant idea! Let's go to that chemist's,' he pointed.

...

'John, I think you're right in wanting to be a doctor.'

'Hm? Why do you say that?'

'I've never seen anyone so riveted standing at a first aid aisle.'

John snorted and grinned, somewhat proudly.

As John made his purchase, Sherlock stood out of the way. His eyes stumbled upon a display a few feet to the right of the counter that showed several brands and variations of condoms. And also... some tubes, where a brand had two boxes marked "his and hers", sold as a pack. A young man walked up to it, grabbed a pack of condoms and a tube and went straight to the queue, all in just a matter of seconds. _Frequently buys them, knows the brands and what he likes. Single. Straight. Here on holiday. Had his girlfriend been here with him, he would have already brought them along. So he's cheating on his girlfriend tonight, girl he just met._ He looked towards the entry door and a young woman was waiting, hands in her pockets, not shopping for anything.

...

That night it took him a while to fall asleep. When he finally did, it was fitful, crammed with square shaped packs, tubes, tanned skin and towels.


	13. Practice on New Year's Eve

**A/Note** : Thanks **ClockworkGirrrl** for favoriting my story.

Enjoy a longer chapter!

* * *

 **13\. Practice on New Year's Eve**

By the third day the novelty was starting to wear off, so everybody took a lazy breakfast, taking their time to go out. Then it started snowing and it was just the perfect consistency for skiing.

'You'll see John. When it's powdery like that, you'll feel like a pro.'

Sherlock couldn't help but to be impressed that John didn't ski like a beginner at all. True, he couldn't go very fast, but still. He added another tick in his mental folder named "John's skills"...

That afternoon Sherlock's parents decided to go on a tour around the area, but as they had already done that the day before, the boys stayed in. They were lounging in front of the telly again as the snow continued to fall. John lit up the fireplace and it was cosy and warm in the room.

Sherlock was enjoying having time alone with John, almost as if they were flatmates. Yet... he couldn't stand it anymore. This sitting around staring at inane movies. He tried to keep it in with all his might, but it was hopeless. It just burst out of his mouth: 'BORED!'

'Jeez, Sherlock! You startled me. Hey, if you want to, we could train.'

He was about to agree, when he realised - 'I didn't bring my cup.'

'Oh, don't worry about it, for God's sake. Don't you trust me?'

'I trust you, I just don't trust that accidents won't happen.'

'Come on, Sherlock, pleeease? I'm bored too, there's nothing else to do.'

Sherlock paused, torn. It was always hard not to cave in when John asked like that. Plus, he was truly desperately excruciatingly bored.

'Please Sherlock. I'll be careful, I promise.'

'Oh, all right.'

'Do you want to go change?'

He considered keeping the jeans for their thickness and compression, but he couldn't even squat comfortably in them, so he went to change into his pyjama bottoms. He was glad that mummy always made them pack extra pants. He put on all three, just in case.

...

'We'll keep going until someone taps, all right?' John said brightly, as he pushed all the furniture to the edges of the room. 'The carpet is really cushy, we should be okay.'

They started standing up in fighting stances, feinting and trying to grapple the other for a throw.

Usually they didn't practice fighting as much as they did the individual techniques themselves. He had told John what Mr. Bart had drilled into him, to always look into his opponent's eyes and why. He also shared that it had, indeed, worked that way in his fight against Sebastian and his mates. Perhaps it was an extension of his "reading" others, but it was as if they were a second or two too slow for him.

Having an excuse to stare into John's dark blue eyes was a delight. It was always fascinating to see the change in him when they did fight practice. He would become extremely serious; there was no trace of his usual good humoured nature left. Sherlock could read challenge, defiance, respect, caution and concentration in his eyes. It was as if there was a dangerous animal inside John, ready to be unleashed. It gave him chills every time he saw it. Not of fear, he knew that much. He just couldn't describe it or name it.

Witnessing this transformation just made it more obvious that there was a lot more to John than what most people saw. And he was fairly certain he was the only one who saw it, which pleased him.

Sherlock was still a bit more experienced, so he managed to get ahold of John and throw him. He managed to pin his arm as they landed, but John rolled out of the grip, trying to put some distance between them and get back up.

Sherlock was faster and followed, keeping him on the floor while trying to get into a neck lock position. John managed to block the pin and, using the technique against being strangled, flipped them and landed on top. Reacting on instinct, Sherlock sat up a bit and hugged John's torso, made him loose balance and reversed their positions. John was momentarily surprised at the unexpected move and next thing he knew, he was on his back, with his neck being pressed. He tapped and was released immediately. Both were sweating a bit, sitting back and breathing hard.

'Hey, that was unfair!' John complained. 'You haven't shown me that technique yet.'

'Just didn't get to it,' he shrugged.

'Now you'll have to show me, how did you do that?'

 _Stupid, why didn't I just let him pin me?_

'Come on, Sherlock, don't hold out on me.'

'I'm not holding out on you.' He lay down on his back and bent his legs wide apart. 'Mount me and reach out as if you were going to grab my neck'.

'If you were to punch me, I can only avoid that by getting close, like so.' He sat halfway up and clung to John's torso. 'If you try to punch me now, there is no distance for you to properly hit me, you see? That's what boxers do.' Hugging John's torso was a dream. He tried not to think of it, but it was the most intimate position they had had so far. He could feel the solid muscles under his arms and cheek, the fast heartbeat under his ear, smell the unique scent that was his mixed in with a bit of sweat, the heat from their exercising seeping through their clothes. Taking advantage of the fact that his face was hidden as he spoke, he closed his eyes and inhaled discreetly, committing this moment to memory.

'Then, pressing my feet and lying down, I'll make you loose your balance, so you'll fall over me, hands on the floor.'

'Whoa!'

'Placing my palms over your shoulder blades I push with my feet, to "walk" up on you, so my head is closer to yours as I keep you down. Now tuck your right hand under my shoulder blade, palm up, to protect your wrist. I have to trap your arm by your triceps with my palm up like this, hook my leg around yours, all on my left side. With the other arm I hug your back to keep you at close range, so you still can't punch me or get away.' _I take it back, this is the most intimate position we've ever had._ Now he had the complete picture: John lying on top of him, while he hugged tightly, his hand itching to run up and down his back.

'Then I roll over my shoulder on the grappling side, just like in the other techniques we've done.' Sherlock then showed him how to trap the arm one more time.*

When they switched positions, it surprised him to feel such a strong hold around his body. He could smell John's hair and it was dizzying to feel the muscled body under his while being held tightly. Even though he knew what was coming, it was still unexpected and thrilling to be flipped so powerfully.

They repeated the technique back and forth on the left side, then switched to the right, always increasing power and speed. John flipped Sherlock and landed as he was taught, kneeling between Sherlock's legs, thighs under thighs, arm pressed against his neck. He tapped, John let go and knelt back.

Sherlock relaxed on his back, but he was well aware that John hadn't moved away, still kneeling against him. Panting and puzzled, he looked up at John. This time there was a strange look on his face as he stared back, also panting. It was already getting dark outside and the fireplace cast a warm light on him, as if he were tanned again. It was very hot in the room, now that they had been wrestling for a while with the fire still going. John's legs touching his didn't help, as they were as warm as the fire. He was immediately self conscious of their positions and of how ridiculously suggestive the whole scenario looked. His own fast breathing was completely unrelated to their wrestling now.

John slowly stretched a hand towards his chest and Sherlock felt the touch burn his skin through the t-shirt. His stomach dropped as he waited; what for he wasn't sure. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. To look into John's eyes was like being a diver going into the dark blue holes scattered throughout the seas. Just like being caught in the tides inside those oceanic caverns of unfathomable depth, he felt the irresistible pull on him. He searched and tried to read them, but they remained mysterious to him, a bit scary, dangerous, unknown and beyond his grasp. The more he tried to reach out for an answer, the more he sank into them. And try as he might, he could not avert his eyes. He thought he read something in them he dare not name. Or would that be he was merely seeing what he so desperately wanted to see? A reflection of what was inside his own depths? All the images he had so carefully buried inside his mind, real or manufactured, flashed before his eyes at dizzying speed. He was burning. He wanted John.

There was the loudest gravel-y crunch of a car parking just outside the front door and they quickly separated. John sat down on the sofa and grabbed a pillow; Sherlock curled around himself on the floor, with his arms around the knees and his back against the sofa.

Mr. Holmes walked in, thumping his boots onto the entry rug. He looked into the room and, after a quick glance at his wife, said brightly, 'Hello boys, we brought dinner. What are you watching?'

'Em, I don't remember the name, but it's a comedy,' John answered.

Sherlock tried to sound bored, 'Forgettable immediately upon being seen. Dull.'

'Well, are you hungry? Let's turn on some lights and get the plates out.'

'Not hungry,' Sherlock said. It was true anyway; he couldn't possibly eat right now, his throat felt constricted and the mere thought of food made him nauseous. Even though he had felt like burning not a few seconds ago, now he felt cold with the sweat all over his body chilled by reality. He'd need time to process what had just happened.

Mrs. Holmes sighed. 'Sherlock, did you at least have lunch today?'

'Yes, mummy!'

'Um, I'm hungry,' John piped in, raising a finger.

'All right John,' Mr. Holmes said, 'come on help me with the plates, will you?'

'We also got a cake and a small bottle of champagne, so we can toast at midnight. Mind you, just a small sip for you boys,' she smiled.

'That'll be fantastic, Mrs. Holmes. Thank you!'

'Oh dear, I'm not sure I will last until midnight,' Mr. Holmes chuckled. 'Can we pre-celebrate at ten?'

Sherlock kept his position in front of the telly, not listening to their merry exchanges anymore, but locking himself inside his mind. The evening was interminable; made worse, as it was New Year's Eve. Mrs. Holmes prodded him back to reality right before midnight.

The little bit of champagne and cake Sherlock had made him dizzy for a few minutes. John looked so alluring across the high table, his face a little pink after the champagne. Mostly, they avoided each other's eyes, but occasionally they'd happen to look up at the same time. Even though he searched for and yearned to look into his eyes again, whenever that did happen Sherlock looked away, afraid to show too much of his confusion and hopes.

Eventually, it was finally acceptable for him to retire to his room.

.

* * *

 **A/Note** : * If you are interested, go to Youtube and seach "Gracie combatives - Lesson 1 - Slice 2


	14. For a Happy New Year

**A/Note** : If life gives you lemons... enjoy them! ;)

* * *

.

 **14\. ...For a Happy New Year**

 _What was that look for? Why did he touch my chest? Was he about to say or do something?_ He wished - he couldn't say it, not even to himself. He desperately wanted to know what would have happened had his parents not shown up. _Did I give myself away? Did I stare too long? Did I arch into his touch?_

He didn't know how long he went around this constant loop in his mind, but was brought back to reality when he heard a faint sound at his door. _Was that a tap?_ But before he could puzzle over the fact that he had heard it despite being inside his mind, his door slowly opened. He immediately sat up, eyes wide, heart hammering inside his chest.

John paused at the door, let out his breath, then stepped into his room. He closed the door and stopped, leaning against it, hands still behind him. In the dim light filtering through the curtains he could see John, wearing pyjama bottoms and a loose long sleeved t-shirt, his chest visibly moving.

They stared at each other. His panic was such that he couldn't speak.

John finally moved and approached the bed slowly, every step even more alarming than the previous one. The anticipation and hope made Sherlock's heart feel as though it was about to burst out of his ribcage.

Breathing loudly, John carefully put his knee on the edge of the bed and paused again, as if waiting for an objection or permission. Sherlock didn't utter a sound, afraid of breaking this tenuous thread that was bringing him closer and closer.

Seeing no objection, he slowly climbed onto the bed and, still giving him plenty of time to stop it, straddled Sherlock.

Sherlock raised his wide eyes to meet John's and then felt a hand on his cheek. Leaning slightly into the touch he closed his eyes and parted his lips in a breathy exhale. The touch was gentle, the hand warm and a bit damp. He felt himself melt into it, relishing on his scent and swaying at the contact. This touch was undeniably affectionate and intimate, beyond friendship, beyond his wildest fantasies. John's hand went up towards his hair, but his fingers got stuck in the curls. Sherlock was momentarily alarmed and embarrassed, he wished he could have combed his hair; had he only known this was about to happen-

John put both palms on his cheeks and, with fingertips reaching the back of his neck, tilted his head up for a kiss.

In the briefest second before it happened he panicked: _What does one actually do when kissing?_ He had never bothered to research that. He just had never expected that this would ever happen to him. He kept his lips parted and eyes closed, afraid of doing something wrong, just feeling what John did to him. His own breathing pounded so loud inside his head, it left no room for anything else, blocking all reason. He thought he could still taste champagne. Slowly, Sherlock ventured into attempting to move his lips, copying John's moves and hoping this was right. For it felt right to him, in an overwhelming mixture of panic and pleasure.

His hands fell unintentionally on John's thighs and he couldn't help but move them, feeling up the warm muscles under the soft flannel. Relishing the touch, his hands moved up and down the thighs, then to the hips, towards the back. When he did that, his hands slipped under John's t-shirt.

His stomach dropped; he was finally experiencing what that bare back felt like. It surpassed his expectations and fantasies; it burned, smooth and solid under his palms. Now peppered with goose pimples.

John was also breathing hard with the kisses and his hands seemed to be all over Sherlock; his back, his arms, his neck, his chest, his sides. John quickly slipped his tongue against Sherlock's lips, a tentative probe, testing for reaction. Sherlock shuddered; there was the briefest contact with his own tongue and he had never imagined this could be so earth shattering. Yes, he could definitely taste the champagne, which somehow only added to the heady feel. If he had been dizzy with the bit of champagne he had tried earlier, now he was positively inebriated with the ghost of it. He felt a smile against his mouth; _this must be good then, he likes my reaction_. Yet, it took him by surprise how much more intense kissing could be. John increased the sensory overload - with his lips, his tongue, his hands -, enveloping him in a storm of heat and wetness. Sherlock was positively light headed, thinking it couldn't get any more intense, when John slid one hand towards his nape and the other around his back, pulling and pressing closer, mashing his hips against Sherlock's.

He gasped. John was hard. And so was he. He moaned into John's mouth as colourful flashes appeared inside his eyelids.

'Shhh,' John whispered, breathlessly continuing his sensual movements and kissing him.

If kissing had already been panic inducing, this was definitely heart attack material. With a strong pounding in his temples and chest, something took over Sherlock and he held tightly, surging forward in what was certainly a shamefully clumsy and desperate manner. His own kisses felt sloppy with too much saliva, and he worried John would back away anytime now, disgusted with such neediness and slobbery on his part. But his own body overrode any and all rational thoughts and his need for John moved him, bigger and stronger than anything he had ever felt.

Sherlock could've stayed like this forever, but soon John gently guided him down. He backed away just enough to move the covers between them out of the way and lowered himself. Sherlock instinctively parted his legs and John's hips nestled between them. The contact was so overwhelmingly pleasurable it drew out a raspy moan from his throat, muffled again by the hungry lips devouring his. John's body weighing over his felt so good, solid and heavy, moving back and forth in a smooth slide and push. With his hands still under the t-shirt, he ran them up and down John's back, just like he had fantasised doing for so long. With his legs bent and feet pushing against the mattress, he kissed back, his own hunger making him move and chase that intoxicating friction.

John now kissed his chin, his cheek, his jawline, moving down to his neck. Sherlock had never understood why people kissed each other's necks. _Such a bony part of the body (mine especially), why would anyone want to kiss-_ A breathy 'Ooh!' escaped his lips. John was also sucking and licking it, adding yet another level to the multi-faceted pleasure he was experiencing.

John's body weight, the hardness of his muscles, the decisiveness in the push of his hips, his scent, his desire and his heat engulfed Sherlock. John had tackled all his senses and turned them into fire; their sweat soaking their clothes, their hair and the sheets underneath him. Like an insect on display, he was pinned to the mattress, shamelessly spreading himself for whatever was to come, this looming and scary unknown. Only the knowledge that this was John on top of him kept his panic at bay. There was so much pressure, so little oxygen, he would certainly pass out any time now. Yet, curling up his body he frantically pushed against John. In a flash he held tightly and buried his mouth into John's shoulder, muffling embarrassing sounds that escaped from his mouth as he exploded, convulsing and spasming, jerking and buckling under John.

He had never imagined it could be so different and so much - more - with someone else.

With one last shudder all the tension left his body and he sagged in bed, worn out, sweaty, panting, hands releasing the tight grip and falling next to his head as John raised himself a bit. He kissed Sherlock tenderly now, on the lips, on the cheeks, on the neck, then pulled away. Sherlock felt cold and wanted him back, it had felt good to have a John blanket covering him. John knelt back, just like in their wrestling positions, their thighs still touching.

Slowly Sherlock slipped out of his daze and became aware of the bed shaking and of some distinct sounds coming from above him. Opening his eyes a little he saw John kneeling between his legs. He had removed his t-shirt and was staring at him, panting, touching his own chest, while his other arm was moving fast. Sherlock's eyes travelled down and he saw John's left hand moving quickly in the dark patch that was his crotch, pyjama and pants pushed out of the way. He couldn't see the details in this low light, but he marvelled seeing John's desire and knowing that it was all for _him_.

John wrapped his free arm around Sherlock's thigh and rubbed his cheek against it, staying like this for a while, inhaling his scent as his hand kept a frantic pace. Then he let go and ran his hand up on Sherlock's stomach and chest, pushing the t-shirt out of the way. The touch was callused, light and stuttering with the effort of its twin. It made him shiver - he was still too sensitive. John played lightly with his left nipple, which made him throw his head back with a shuddering breath.

Seeing Sherlock's reactions proved to be too much for John. He quickly reached to the side, grabbed his own t-shirt and held it close, blocking Sherlock's view. Sherlock wanted to see it, feel it even, and was about to tell him so, but it happened too fast. John threw his head back, neck muscles and pecs straining. He was quiet, only his breathing coming out louder, in spurts. The idea alone of what was happening now was so erotic, it was enough to bring back his own desire. He was still too sensitive to be touched, but he was hardening again.

After a while, with his breathing more under control, John stared at him for a bit. Still using his t-shirt, he gingerly wiped himself and his hand and pulled his clothes back up. He lowered Sherlock's t-shirt back in place, got out of bed, pulled the covers to tuck him in and left quietly.

Sherlock was astonished but too knackered to panic or rejoice. In a daze, he pushed and kicked his soiled pyjamas and pants out of the way and took off his t-shirt, as it was a bit wet in some spots.

He slept well that night, naked, with John's smells enveloping him.

...

* * *

 **A/Note** : Phew! People usually complain that I don't give much detail of these two together so there you go. And please let me know how I did. :D


	15. The morning after

**15\. The morning after**

In the morning Sherlock pulled on his dressing gown and moved quickly to the bathroom to shower and get ready. He studied his own face in the mirror, to assure himself that no one would know what had happened just by looking at him. He would have to be careful. Mycroft was most certainly capable of reading him, but his parents weren't too far behind, being more perceptive than most people.

In a mix of horror and pride he saw the telltale red mark on his neck. It was faint, but his skin was so pale that the contrast made it stand out vividly, like an emergency flare in the night.

It was real, it had happened.

Not that he doubted it being real, but this was concrete, palpable evidence. _Physical evidence_ , the corners of his lips tilted up.

He touched his neck, remembering the previous night. He replayed John's actions in his head. Then he ran his hand from the stomach up to his chest. He played with his nipple, just like John had done and shuddered, closing his eyes. He looked in the mirror again. His own face was scandalous and obvious. He would have to close his mind for now.

...

He was sitting at the counter with his tea, scarf wound around his neck, while his parents bustled about with breakfast. John walked in, showered and ready, always so alluring with his hair wet. He had a serious, somewhat sheepish look about him and after one quick look at Sherlock with a magnificently crinkled forehead, he lowered his eyes, settling on the stool next to him.

'Good morning,' he said quietly to the room in general.

His parents answered brightly and John smiled a bit at them. He kept staring straight ahead. Then he turned his head slightly and, still avoiding eye contact, asked 'How're you doing?'

'Fine,' Sherlock responded noncommittally, also staring straight ahead.

'We'll start packing right after breakfast and go,' said Mrs. Holmes. 'I hope both of you had a good time here.'

'Yes, Mrs. Holmes, I did. Thank you again for having me,' John rushed in, politely.

'Oh, don't make such a grim face John, your Winter break is not over yet,' she smiled, placing a cup of tea in front of him.

He gave her a small smile and raised the cup to indicate it, 'Thanks!'

'How about you Sherlock? Was it less boring for you having John over?'

First his stomach dropped hearing "Was it less boring for you having John?" Then his un-helping mind finished her sentence with _You_. He suddenly felt naked under a spotlight, that was unexpected. For one second he feared they could all read him. _That's not what she meant. Pull yourself together!_ 'Erm, yes,' he replied in a bored tone. He was proud of his self control.

Mr. Holmes turned, setting plates in front of them, 'John, that means he had a tremendous time with you here. He's just too stubborn to admit it.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

...

On the trip back, John spoke very little and as they were sitting at opposite ends of the airplane, there was never a chance to talk.

When they had finally landed and retrieved their luggage, they met the Watsons.

As their parents chatted, John looked at him for the first time since that quick look in the morning. 'I'll talk to you later.' He looked serious, frowning slightly, and the corners of his mouth twisted into the resemblance of a smile for a fraction of a second.

'All right,' was all that his mind came up with. He had a sinking feeling that this didn't bode well.

Sherlock waited the whole day and night, but John didn't call.


	16. Access implies intimacy

**A/Note** : Thanks **Night of StarClan** for favoriting my story and all of you who've been following it. Thanks for the reviews. People, do not despair. Keep calm and carry on reading Johnlock.

I'm not sure if I successfully kept them in character in this chapter. If I didn't, sorry! Please let me know.

Enjoy a longer chapter after yesterday's short buzzkill!

* * *

.

 **16\. Access implies intimacy**

'Thanks for letting me come over,' John said, eyes darting around, not really fixing on Sherlock for long. 'My parents are at work, but Harry has been home a lot lately. New Year's resolution, I guess. I just hope it sticks.'

'There's no one home, we can talk freely.'

John looked around. 'Your house is so' he paused, casting for an appropriate word to describe it, 'normal.'

Sherlock puzzled, 'What did you expect?'

'I don't know, just nothing as uh, ordinary as this.'

'I know,' Sherlock rolled his eyes in agreement, as if being "normal" and "ordinary" was regrettable. He gestured towards the sofa but thought best to keep his distance for now, until he knew what John had to say. He settled for the armchair across the sofa, bracing his elbows against the armrests and fingertips touching in front of his face, bracing himself for what was to come. _Surely a rejection._

John sat down looking everywhere but at Sherlock.

He clicked his tongue, 'John, look at me.' When he got his full attention, Sherlock spoke in his most neutral tone, trying not to sound whiny. 'It's been three days. Three days waiting for you to call.'

'I know. I'm sorry. I just had to sort my head first.'

Sherlock remained silent, waiting, heart pounding.

'You have to understand, this was very confusing to me. That was a first for me, you know?'

He frowned. _First? What about Allan?_

John took a deep breath. 'Well, I'll be honest with you. Remember Allan, the last rugby captain?'

Sherlock nodded. All this time he wanted to know what had happened between the two of them. Now he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it.

'Well, he and I eh, fooled around. I mean, we kissed. He touched me.'

'By "touch" you mean?'

John was blushing now, 'Well, he -' and he gestured towards his own crotch, 'you know. He said he was in love with me, but I didn't quite believe him. I didn't let things go very far because I feared that he just got a kick out of seducing straight blokes.' He gave an embarrassed smile, 'Or so I thought of myself at the time. With Allan, there was something about the way he looked at me; it was scary and exciting at the same time, it pulled me in. We only did it twice. In between those two times, he enlisted and left, I dated Maggie and - well, you know what happened. Once he was gone I thought "that's it, it's over". I thought that was a one off. I thought I was in love with her, things were great.'

He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs and looked up at Sherlock. 'Then Allan showed up again, and we fooled around again. He- it messed me up badly; I didn't know what to think of the whole thing. Was I straight? Was I bi? Was I gay? That's why my relationship with Maggie fell apart. How could I be in love with her if I was going around her back and cheating on her? And with a bloke? I was never attracted to other boys, why did that even happen? I even tried looking around, to see if any other boys had an effect on me, but none did. I've gone out with other girls since. Some I - you know. I was trying to find out what I was. I thought a lot about it since then.'

Sherlock's nostrils flared minutely. He didn't want to think about John with all those girls and Allan. He could always tell which ones he had slept with, even if John had never volunteered the information.

'Over the past few months, with our training, I've been enjoying our time together, our banter, our conversations. I've come to know you. I said it before, you have become my best friend and I was happy with that,' he smiled briefly. 'I feel like I connect with you better than I ever did with anyone else. I feel-' he searched for words, ' _comfortable_ with you.

When I saw that bloke attacking you in the alley I can't explain it; I felt this overwhelming - panic - for you. I had never felt anything like it before. Only later on that day it dawned on me what that man was after. That got me even more worried, given that you didn't fight back. I kept watching you for signs of trauma after that. I watched you for days.

Only then I understood.'

John took a deep breath, 'I've never noticed other boys because I had _you_ by my side all the time. I was always so focused on you, _you_ had all my attention all the time. Like all the other girls, I also had "noticed" you this year. My break up with Maggie, fooling around with Allan, my despair when you were attacked, my fascination with you sent me into a very confused time. There was no way to deny it, I had a crush on you. I tried really hard to stamp it down, because you said many times that you weren't interested in relationships, that people are boring.'

Sherlock's mouth hung open.

'That didn't work now, did it?' John lowered his eyes with a quick half smile. 'All this time I've got used to touching you. To be physically close to you became normal to me. I've enjoyed our training and our floor wrestling; a lot more than I was ready to admit. I tried not to make too much of it. Everything was fine. That is, until that day at the lodge.

Being alone with you for a couple of days, then in such close contact, with our positions and all that "hugging". It broke down my self control. You looked so gorgeous under the fire light, panting, with your hair a bit wet from sweat, twirling around your face. Right then and there I wanted to touch you. I wanted to kiss you. And I would have, had your parents not come in. I felt this "possibility" between us.' He broke into an embarrassed smile, looking away. 'What a ridiculous cliché, by the fireplace!' He looked back, serious. 'I was in a state that whole evening; I kept looking at you and you kept avoiding looking at me and it just got worse and worse. I couldn't sleep and - well, that was the result.' He looked down.

Sherlock was breathing a little faster with all this, entranced by what John was telling him. Somehow the sitting room was much warmer now.

'I wasn't sure of what I wanted or if you wanted it, until I straddled you', John paused. 'Were you all right? With what we did?'

'Yes,' he croaked.

'Sherlock, what I'm trying to say is that, with Allan, _he_ pursued _me_. With you, _I_ wanted it. With you I didn't just let a bloke get me off. With you, I did what felt natural. _That_ was a first for me. What I feel for you is different. Different than what I felt for Maggie or Allan.'

'Different how?'

'I don't know, Sherlock. It's-' He stared into space, searchingly, then back at him, 'more.' John looked away and took a deep breath. Then, with his forehead all wrinkled, he stared into Sherlock's eyes and asked, 'Do you- Do you want this?'

'By "this" you mean?'

'Continue with what we did. I mean, not _just_ what we did. What I mean is, not just friendship. I mean-'

'Yes.'

John inhaled in surprise. 'Are you sure? What about all that "not being interested in people"? "People are boring"?'

'I'm not interested in people, I'm interested in you.'

'Why me?'

'John, this might embarrass you, but let me show you my jeans and tell you a story.'

...

John's mouth was hanging open. 'You bastard!' Despite the words, John didn't seem furious. He actually sounded amused. 'You spied on me naked?' He smiled, 'Bastard!'

'You should be thankful, that's what caught my attention,' he smirked.

'I can't say I blame you, I know I have one hell of a good looking arse.'

'I find your modesty astounding, John.'

John gave a small smile, then became serious. 'So all this time you knew about Allan.'

'I didn't know what had happened exactly, I couldn't tell wether or not you had a preference.'

'I don't know if I do. I enjoyed it with girls. I enjoyed it with Allan. But I loved it with you. With you I want - more.' John looked at the floor, going a little pink on the cheeks.

Sherlock couldn't believe this was happening. 'I didn't know I had a preference until that day in the locker room. I've never had interest in anybody else, nor have I ever expected that something like what we did would happen to me. You are different than everybody else.'

'How?'

Sherlock gave a small smile. 'You like me.'

'I can't believe you're interested in me. You could have anyone you like.'

He frowned, 'Why do you say that?'

'Oh, come on, Sherlock.'

'No, I really don't know why you're saying that.'

John pursed his lips and shook his head. 'You are gorgeous. You are amazing, in more ways than I can count. There's no one like you.'

Sherlock was stunned into silence. Nobody had ever made comments on his appearance; not in a positive manner anyway, if you counted Sebastian and his mates. And only John could always associate him with the word "amazing". It always made him smile to hear John say it.

'John, _you_ are the one who could have anyone you like.'

'Not really. I'm not handsome, I know that. My so called "popularity" depends heavily on being the rugby captain. After school that won't really matter anymore.'

'No, it's more a matter of who you are. People usually don't like me, but they like you.'

'Maybe.'

John took a deep breath and asked, 'Sherlock, I need to ask you: if we do this, what do we do about school?'

Sherlock frowned, 'What do you mean?'

'Do we tell everybody?'

'Why should that matter?'

'Well, if we don't, we can't just openly kiss in front of people, can we?'

Sherlock sighed. _People are so complicated._ He let his arms fall and sank in the chair. 'John, people are not my area, I'll let you decide what you want and I'll go along with it.'

'Listen, I'd love to yell to the world that we are together. But realistically, I don't think it'll be a good idea. At school, at least.'

'You are embarrassed to say you're with me, a boy.'

'Well... yes, a little. Not because of you. Please understand, after all the girls I've dated it's a little difficult for me to flip that switch that quickly. I'm still trying to get my head around it. But more than anything, I don't want to cause you more trouble. I'd hate to see scumbags like Sebastian adding that kind of insult to pick on you.'

'He and the others don't bother me, I don't care about them.'

'But you know what I mean.'

Sherlock sighed, rubbing his temple, 'Yes.'

'Honestly Sherlock, I fear for you if they learn about us. I thought about that too these past three days, you know?'

Sherlock pulled his hand away and stared back at John.

John blushed and looked down. 'I care about you. I don't want to make your life worse. I almost gave up on us for that reason. But the truth is, I don't want to give up. I want to be with you.'

John fidgeted, flicking his eyes at him and at the floor, forehead crinkling, but Sherlock continued staring, now with his mouth open.

'Eh, Sherlock? Sherlock. Sherlock!'

Sherlock blinked and closed his mouth. After a few seconds, he stood up. He slowly walked up to John and extended his hand, palm up.

John didn't know what that meant but, with his forehead all wrinkled, he took Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock spoke very quietly, pulling him up, 'Come with me.'

'Where?'

'To my room.'


	17. People are so complicated

**A/Note** : Wow! I can't believe how much reaction my last chapter caused. Thanks to all the people who favorited it ( **Crazygirl1196, Himeki Aiuzawa, Kelly1228, Lira Fujoshi, Prettylittlehead22** ), are following and have reviewed since yesterday. I'll respond to you guys as soon as I post this.

(Chews on nails) I hope you guys don't hate me for it... I don't want to lose all of you, the readers, but I drew the curtain of modesty in our window. So berate me if that'll keep you reading (innocent puppy eyes asking for your forgiveness). : J

* * *

.

 **17\. People are so complicated**

Sherlock stared at the Physics teacher, but his mind was elsewhere. He was proud of himself, he had been able to stay impassive the whole day, so not to give away what had changed in his life. As soon as he stepped out of the class though, he was vaguely aware of a hissing.

'What are you so happy about, freak?'

It took him a while to figure out the hissing had been directed at him. His lips tugged down, _Sebastian. Ignore him._

'Hey, I'm talking to you. What's that? A new scarf?'

He was jolted backwards; Sebastian had grabbed it from behind.

'Ooh, Christmas gift from a boyfriend?'

'Sebastian, this is tedious, don't you have better things to do?'

'Ooh, so it is, isn't it? Oh no, you're not leaving. Who gave you that?'

'Let go of my arm.'

'Tell me who gave you that and I will.'

'Mr. Moran! Mr Holmes! What's the matter?'

Sebastian immediately let go of Sherlock. The History teacher, Mr. Foster, was staring at them, fists in his waist.

'Nothing is the matter, Professor. Just some playful banter between friends, that's all,' Sebastian smiled.

Mr. Foster stared at him, then at Sherlock, 'Is that right, Mr. Holmes?'

'Quite right Professor, thank you. Mr. Moran is just being his usual idiot self.'

'And Mr. Holmes is being a prat, as usual.'

Mr. Foster frowned at them, then finally let his hands fall, 'All right, move along then. You have classes to attend.'

'Yes, Sir,' both answered.

'Later, _prat_.'

'Later, _idiot_.'

 _That was close._ He'd have to be more careful outside classes also.

...

'What's the matter?'

'Hm? What do you mean?'

'You look gloomy today,' John said as they sat at the Lab.

'Just applying self control, that's all.'

'What do you mean?'

Sherlock lowered his voice. 'If you want this to remain a secret, I can't really be soppily smiling at you, can I?'

John stifled a laugh while Sherlock remained facing forward, rolling his eyes and sighing for show.

...

It bothered John. All throughout the first week of school after the Christmas break Sherlock was cold, aloof, distracted, never showing any warmth at all. Intellectually he understood why, but Sherlock played his part all too well. It was almost as if nothing had ever happened between them. There had not been an opportunity to meet that week. By Friday he texted.

 **_'S, can we meet at your house today? J'**

 **'Not today. S'**

 **_'Why not? J'**

 **'My brother is home. S'**

 **_'Ok. My house then? J'**

 **'Can't do that either. S'**

 **_'Why not? J'**

 **'My brother is home. S'**

 **_'What's that got to do with my house? J'**

 **'You don't know him. He'll know. S'**

 **_'Tomorrow? J'**

 **'Perhaps. S'**

John threw his arms up, alarming a few girls walking by. Then he heard a ping.

 **'If you have Yorkies, I might be persuaded. S'**

He smiled, _Ah, cheeky and coy, are you?_

 **_'Haggler. J'**

 **'You started, you are the briber. S'**

 **'But seriously, I don't know if I can get away. I'll keep you informed. S'**

John's smile faded again.

'Hi John.'

He jumped, closing the screen.

'Sorry, sorry, John. I didn't mean to startle you.'

'Oh no, that's okay, Mary. I just didn't hear you approach.'

'Bad news?' she jutted her chin to his phone.

'Oh, that? No, not at all,' he pocketed his phone. 'I think I just got turned down for a date, but other than that, it's all fine,' he smiled self deprecatingly.

'Oh,' she blushed a bit. 'I'm sorry. Em. Uh, well, if you're not - busy - this weekend, I mean, if you want to, maybe we can hang out then? Would you like to go to the cinema this weekend? I mean, not like, a date or anything, but just to hang out?'

John considered it. He had no interest in her, and it would be unfair to give her hopes. But if they were to keep their relationship a secret, it wouldn't hurt to "hang out" with girls once in a while. Plus, if Sherlock were to come to his house, they had agreed to stick to their afternoons, to keep up with their established routine.

'Well, uh, if it's in the evening that might work. Just to hang out?'

'Yes, of course. I'd like that.'

'Me too. Thanks for the invite.'

She smiled and they exchanged numbers. Some of his mates saw it and teased him afterwards while Sherlock walked by.

...

 **_'What did they mean, you have a date with Mary tomorrow? S'**

 **'S, it's not a date. J'**

 **_'You are going out with a girl on a Saturday night. Sounds like a date to me. S'**

 **'Look, it's just diversion, all right? It won't interfere with us. Our "schedule". J'**

 **'Plus you more or less turned me down. J'**

 **_'I did not. S'**

 **'Can't talk. Class. J'**

 **_'Don't be ridiculous. You're just doing that out of spite. S'**

 **_'J? S'**

 **_'J. S'**

...

 **_'S, pick up your phone. J'**

 **_'Please, we need to talk. J'**

 **_'Please, I need to talk to you. J'**

...

'Hello,' Sherlock kept his voice neutral.

'Why are you mad at me?'

'I think that is perfectly clear. Don't insult my intelligence by pretending you don't know.'

'I was in a class, the prof had already told me off. And plus, it's _not_ a date!'

'Why are you going out with her then? On Saturday. _Our_ day.'

'Sherlock, I told you, it's just for appearances. Plus we only get together in the afternoons, remember? Please, I need to see you, I need to feel you and know it's real.'

'What do you mean "real"?'

'You were so cold to me the whole week, it was as if nothing had happened at all. Like I had just imagined it. That's why I wanted to get together today.'

'John, you asked me to keep it quiet. I have to act like I've always did. Sebastian almost caught me the other day.'

'How so?'

'I was smiling.'

John thought it was a sad thing that Sherlock couldn't even smile in peace. Then he got angry at Sebastian. 'That arsehole! I hate that you can't even smile without him picking on you. God, I want to pummel him so badly right now!'

Sherlock felt a bit warm at this and smiled, 'Chivalry won't do our cover any good, John. But changing the subject will not work with me.'

'I'm not changing the subject, it's _not_ a date. I have no interest in her. Please Sherlock, I need to see you!'

Sherlock pondered and took a deep breath. 'John, maybe we'll need more distance if you want this secret to work.'

'What? What do you mean?'

'Maybe I should transfer schools.'

John was speechless for a few seconds. 'No! You can't do that!'

'Two years, John. How do you expect this not to come out for two years? I most likely can do it. But I don't think you can. Just listen to yourself. It has only been a week.'

John felt like he had just been punched in the stomach. This almost sounded more like a break up to him.

'Sherlock, I need to see you. Please.'

Sherlock sighed, 'John, as much as I'd love to, you don't know my brother.'

'Sod your brother. Let's come out to our families then.'

'Are you sure?'

He swallowed. 'Yes.'

'You mean today?'

'Yes.'

'Don't you need to think this through?'

'No, let's do it.'

'All right. You can come over then.'


	18. Mycroft

**A/Note** : Thanks **Thilbo4Ever** for favoriting my story during a buzzkill of a chapter! And thanks for the reviews and follows.

So now enjoy some brotherly jealousy... Maybe the root of Sherlock's problem with Mycroft is not just sibling rivalry? Pure speculation (rubs chin).

* * *

.

 **18\. Mycroft**

'Yes, may I help you?'

'Em, I'm here to see Sherlock. You must be his brother Mycroft? I'm John Watson,' he extended his hand.

Mycroft gave him a once over, his chin tilted up a bit, then he smiled politely, shaking his hand. 'Yes, I've heard of you. Sherlock's friend.'

'And boyfriend too,' said Sherlock from behind Mycroft. 'No need to pretend you haven't seen it. We're telling mummy and father today.'

'Ah, please forgive my little brother's crassness. Do come in, John.'

John was astounded and speechless. He hadn't expected Sherlock being so direct.

'Please do come in, John,' Mycroft gestured again.

'Right,' he cleared his throat, walking in and feeling very small and positively red. It didn't help that Mycroft was so tall.

'Any questions?' Sherlock asked his brother.

'Many. But right at this moment, I think John needs a little time to recover from your bluntness, Sherlock. Maybe I could offer you some tea, John?'

'Em, yes, that would be great. Thanks.'

'Manners, Sherlock. Why don't you show John to the sitting room? I'll be there in a moment.'

Sherlock huffed, grabbed John's hand and pulled him away.

'Sherlock,' John hissed.

'What? He had understood it already.'

'How?'

'How many friends do you think I have? And coming over "to see me"?'

John pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Can you please not do it this way when your parents come home?'

'All right. Can I kiss you now?'

'Not with your brother about to come in any time.'

'He's making tea, we have at least a few minutes until the water boils.'

'Just hug me, will you? I've been feeling so lonely this week.'

Sherlock took a step forward and they met in an embrace.

'Why?' Sherlock said quietly into John's hair. 'You know you asked me to be discreet.'

'It's been harder than I thought, to see you and not be able to touch you, or even talk to you properly.'

'I know. That's why I think it might be best if we don't see each other every day at school. Think. In one week you went from wanting to be secretive to coming out to our families. This only shows your idea is not sustainable.'

'I felt like you were breaking up with me when you talked about changing schools. Like you didn't want to see me at all.'

'Don't be daft. Breaking up is not an option to me.'

'Why do you say that?'

'John, what are the chances of another relationship ever happening to me? Me liking someone? And someone like you liking me? This has been a fluke already.'

John snorted. 'You're pretty good looking. There'd be no shortage of offers for you.'

'For _you_ , more likely. As your Saturday date can attest to.'

John pulled away. 'It's _not_ a date!'

Sherlock's lips curled up briefly. 'I know.'

John stared, 'You prat!'

'I know.'

'You _knew_ and were still giving me a hard time?'

' _Intellectually_ , I knew it wasn't. But I can't say I was happy about it. I'm still not happy about it.'

John frowned. 'You are jealous?'

'No, I'm not.'

He smirked, 'Yes you are.'

'Am not!'

'Yes you are,' John messed Sherlock's hair.

'Stop it, John!' he batted the teasing hand away.

John held him by the waist, 'Sherlock, how can I make you understand? I-'

'Ahem,' Mycroft walked in with a loaded tray, so they pulled apart, Sherlock huffing and rolling his eyes as they sat down. John felt like a tomato.

'So John. How did this happen, if you don't mind me asking?' Mycroft started pouring tea in a fine bone china cup, with rose patterns and gold rims.

'Eh, if you mean Sherlock and I, it just did. I liked how quirky and smart he was. This year we struck a friendship. I saw him fighting against five bullies and tried to help, but he had it under control.' Mycroft gestured towards the milk. 'I - yes, please - I asked him to teach me self defence. With time, we realised we liked each other. That's... about it,' he turned his head to Sherlock.

'I see. And you're telling our parents today? Sugar?'

'No, thank you. To the sugar, I mean. Yes, we're telling your parents today,' he swallowed.

'Why?' He handed John his cup.

'Thank you. We don't want to lie and have to keep it a secret. It's hard enough at school.'

'So you are also coming out at school then? Cucumber sandwich?'

'Ah, yes. The sandwich, I mean. No, we think that's more- complicated. To come out at school, that is.'

'How so? Tea, Sherlock?'

'Do I have any choice?' Sherlock huffed.

'There are boys that already pick on Sherlock. I don't think it would be safe for him.'

'Ah. I see.' Mycroft paused and looked at him tilting his head back, furrowing his brow, as if he had just thought of something. 'You play sports, don't you John?' His eyes travelled down, 'Rugby, of course.' He poured some milk into Sherlock's cup.

'Ah yes, Sherlock told you?'

'No,' both Sherlock and Mycroft said at the same time.

John stared at Mycroft, 'You can do that too?'

Sherlock added (trying to stop his brother and not sound like he was bragging) 'John is-'

'-The team captain,' both brothers spoke simultaneously again.

'Obviously,' Mycroft said with amusement, stirring sugar into the cup. 'My, Sherlock. I never took you for someone who would be impressed by sports. You've even started watching rugby games.' He placed Sherlock's cup in front of him, knowing it would be futile to hand it to him. Especially now that Sherlock was staring daggers at him and colouring a bit. 'I find your relationship highly - informative.' Before Sherlock could reply, he turned back to John and quickly continued. 'Ah, but there is more, isn't there, John? Not just sports for you. You've been saving so you can go to Uni, you want-'

'-To become a doctor, yes, yes, very clever, Mycroft.'

'But you surprised yourself when it came to Sherlock, didn't you? You had only dated girls up until he came along. Many girls,' he raised his eyebrow, smirking.

John felt really sweaty but couldn't decide whether his face had gone deeply red or deathly pale.

'Oh. No, no, no, I see.' He poured some tea for himself. 'There was someone before Sherlock. Another boy. A teammate?' He looked up, still smirking.

'Oh, please Mycroft, you're just doing cold reading. Stop embarrassing yourself, would you please?'

'How-'

'Don't encourage him, John. All he's doing is reading your facial expressions - which by the way are opposite to micro-sized - so there's no need to be astonished. He's just trying to impress and intimidate you.'

Mycroft chuckled, stirring his cup. 'The clues are all in you, John. Not only on your face, as my brother says. One only has-'

'-To observe,' both spoke at the same time again, Sherlock rolling his eyes.

'Yes, yes, Mycroft. You've showed off. He's amazed. There are no secrets between us, so you didn't need to embarrass him by bringing up-. Now leave him alone,' Sherlock added.

'But how did you know I want to be a doctor?'

Mycroft smirked and looked at his brother. Sherlock was momentarily at a loss for words. Then, looking away at the floor, he replied quietly. 'Right before Christmas he came into my room and looked over my shoulder as I was browsing on my laptop. I didn't hear him come in and he saw I was looking at stethoscopes.'

John's jaw dropped and he stared wide eyed at Sherlock. 'You were going to give me a stethoscope for Christmas?'

'I just didn't because I thought it would look strange, as it was befo-'

Mycroft made an amused face and sipped his tea, never taking his eyes off his brother. Sherlock couldn't stand it and faced John, only to see the alarmed look still on his face.

'Oh please, John. Honestly, they are not that expensive. In fact, they cost less than a jump-' he caught himself.

'You said it wasn't an expensive one!'

Mycroft chuckled at his brother's clumsiness with words, bringing Sherlock's attention back to him. Both brothers stared at each other. Sherlock gave Mycroft a warning look, but his brother merely smirked as usual, as if he knew more than he was willing to share.

John cleared his throat. 'Erm, Mycroft, are you going to be here when your parents get home?'

'Why?' Both brothers asked simultaneously, Sherlock a bit more alarmed.

'Moral support?' He said quietly, forehead all wrinkled.

'John, that's absurd, we don't need him!' Sherlock spoke quickly.

'I'm flattered John. Of course I would stay, but you heard my little brother.'

Sherlock hated that condescending smile just as much as being called "little".

'Today is probably not the most auspicious day, as father is usually in a dreadful mood on Fridays. He has some difficult students on Fridays that really challenge his patience. They leave him unusually irritated and little things set him off. I'm surprised Sherlock hasn't warned you,' he briefly turned towards Sherlock, smiling. 'But never fear, John. They spoke fondly of you after the New Year's holiday. I'm sure you will do fine. I'm delighted to finally meet you and I venture to say our parents were right about you. I usually don't put much faith in sentiment, it's a handicap that usually only clouds one's mind.'

Mycroft turned to Sherlock and this time, John thought his smile wasn't a teasing one, but one of fondness.

'But I can tell that in my brother's case, you might yet be the making of him.' He raised his teacup as if toasting, 'Well done, Sherlock.'

'I don't need your approval, Mycroft.'

Sherlock stood up, grabbed John's arm and pulled him up and away. John barely had time to put his cup down and quickly smile and nod to Mycroft.

Mycroft called out, 'Not your bedroom, Sherlock. I don't think our parents would approve once they learn about your relationship.'

John halted at the stairs stopping Sherlock. 'He's got a point you know, I don't want to give them a wrong impression right before I-'

Mycroft came towards them. 'I need to get ready anyway, I have to attend a charity event and assist with identifying who is who. Our dear MP has trouble remembering names. So why don't the two of you remain in the sitting room? John, it was a pleasure to meet you.' They shook hands, 'Please do finish enjoying your tea. And Sherlock, behave. You know it's almost time for mummy and father to come home.'

...

John chuckled and shook his head. He dropped his voice, 'Now I understand what you meant when you said "my brother is home". He's incredible.'

Sherlock looked like he had just smelled something spoiled.

'Not as much as you, though,' John added quickly.

That brought a small smile on Sherlock's face. 'Notice there were only cucumber sandwiches on the tray? Just this morning there were scones, but he broke his diet and already ate them all, I'm sure of it.'

'He's not fat, though.' John smiled at Sherlock's disgusted face and leaned forward again, this time planting a soft kiss on his neck, 'But you're still the good looking brother.'

Sherlock smiled and leaned forward to kiss him. John pulled away. 'Sherlock, not with your brother upstairs and your parents about to come in.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

'That reminds me, why didn't you tell me your father is in a bad mood on Fridays?'

'Oh, John. Stop fretting, they already like you.'

John's forehead wrinkled as his stomach did some internal sky diving. 'Yeah, but it's only the second time I'm seeing them and I'm already telling them I'm dating their son.'


	19. Sherlock's parents

**A/Note** : Thanks **AlexSeason** for favoriting this story.

My (former) beta just told me my portrayal of Sherlock's parents is not British enough. "Too American". Oh well, too late now... :(

* * *

.

 **19\. Sherlock's parents**

As the front door opened, they heard Mrs. Holmes voice.

'...but Love, you know they're just immature and insecure about their sexuality and you shouldn't let them get to you. All you're doing is getting yourself worked up for nothing really. You- John! You're here!'

'John, how nice to see you!' Mr. Holmes said. Then, looking at the tea set, he paused. 'Sherlock, did you-? Ah, I see. Mycroft is home.'

'Yes, unfortunately. As you can tell, there are only cucumber sandwiches left.'

'Sherlock!' said Mrs. Holmes. 'John, I'm glad you came to visit. I take you've met Mycroft?'

'Em yes, he served tea. He just went upstairs, he said he had to get ready for an event tonight.'

'Ah yes, he told us about it. How are you? I hope you can stay for dinner?'

John was still thinking about the phrase "insecure about their sexuality" and trying to figure out if it had any bearing on what he was about to do. 'Em, I'm fine, Mrs. Holmes. Maybe some other time - stay for dinner, I mean. I just stopped by for a short visit.'

'Let me make some fresh tea then, so we can join you. I'm glad I just bought some digestives-'

'-That Mycroft probably already ate-'

'Not these, Sherlock. Now shush. Love, could you come and help me?'

'Yes, dear.'

John waited until they were in the kitchen, then whispered, 'How do you think they will react when I tell them about us? What did your mum mean with what she was just telling your father when they came in?'

'Probably that his students are immature and insecure about their sexuality.'

'Not helping, Sherlock.'

'Do you want me to tell them?'

'No!'

...

'You're in luck, John. Mycroft doesn't like coconut biscuits but Sherlock does. Occasionally he even deigns himself to eat them. I hope you like coconut.'

'Em, yes, that's fine, absolutely fine, Mrs. Holmes. I like coconut. I- I- I- ahem.'

'John, are you all right?' said Mr. Holmes.

'I- em-'

'Spit it out lad, go on.'

'Well... Sherlock and I are dating and I just wanted to let you know because I, I mean, _we_ didn't want to make it a lie by omission so we thought we would be honest and come out, I mean, not come out as in "gay coming out", but it just happened because we get along well and through our training we got to know each other very well and that it wasn't until the New Year's holiday that we figured out we liked each other though, so I just couldn't bear not to be able to express what I feel for him in fear of you not approving, but I would like to let you know that we really like each other and we are together and of course I do hope you approve of us together so we can continue to be together. That's... about it,' he gave a brief nod.

Sherlock's parents were both staring at him, astonishment clear in their faces. Mrs. Holmes held her teacup and saucer in front of her chest, as she sat up very straight on the edge of her armchair. Mr. Holmes had his fingers crossed on top of his stomach, right ankle perched over the left knee as he sank into his. John swallowed and looked up from one to the other, waiting, forehead moving non-stop.

Then Mr. Holmes turned to Sherlock. 'And you, Sherlock?'

'He likes him very much, Father,' said Mycroft at the door, in a three piece suit. Both John and Mrs. Holmes stood up. 'Sherlock has even started watching John's rugby games. Hello Mummy, Father.' He kissed his mother's cheek and nodded to Mr. Holmes. 'As you know, I'm afraid I cannot stay for dinner tonight. I am deeply sorry to miss it,' he said smiling at John. 'John, I'm very pleased to meet you. Have a good evening.'

'Stop staring at him and leave already, Mycroft.'

'Sherlock!' said Mrs. Holmes. 'I know you will do well at the party, Mycroft.'

'Thank you mummy.' He nodded to the room with a slight bow and left.

They waited until the front door closed, then Mr. Holmes repeated his earlier question. 'And you, Sherlock? How do you feel about it?'

Sherlock was momentarily taken aback. Talking to his parents about his feelings was something he had never done before. Several responses came to his mind but none seemed to be the best way to describe what he felt for John. After discarding several possible but mediocre answers, he felt John's foot leaning a little insistently against his.

'He's not boring.'

John wasn't sure whether he'd rather dig himself a hole and sink into it, run away or strangle Sherlock. Both stared at Sherlock a little longer, then Mr. Holmes turned to his wife and both smiled at each other. She looked back and beamed at John.

'We're just happy you found each other,' Mrs. Holmes said.

'I'm touched you thought of telling us, John. Thank you,' added Mr. Holmes.

...

They were surprised and slightly concerned about having to transfer Sherlock due to safety issues, but agreed to look into it over the coming Summer.

...

Sherlock walked John out and they stood outside, hands in their pockets.

'Phew! I've never sweated this much in my whole life! That was nerve wrecking. They took it surprisingly well, considering. They didn't seem surprised at all.'

'They had already deduced it, so there were no surprises. They were just better than I had anticipated in keeping me from realising it.' Sherlock smiled, 'I guess the fact that I had a friend, and now a boyfriend made me more "normal", so "normalcy" is still preferable, even if it is in a gay form.'

'I still don't like that label. Haven't gotten used to it. I've always seen myself as straight, you know?'

'Then why bother with labels? Just say you're bisexual if it makes you feel better. I don't consider myself gay either.'

John frowned, 'How come?'

'There is only you. No one else has ever affected me. There is no common desire for one gender or another.'

'Seriously?'

'Yes.'

'Huh. Well, I'm glad I made the cut then.'

Sherlock curled up his lips.

John smiled, 'You know, I'm glad you didn't tell me that your brother could also do what you do. I would've been a nerve wreck. I'm still amazed at how much he could tell about me when we had barely met. He looked so different in a suit!'

Sherlock turned his head sharply. 'How so?'

'I don't know... more grown up, responsible, serious. That looked like an expensive suit.'

'He's very picky about his suits. Why, do you like suits?'

'Never wore them, so I don't know.'

'I mean, do you like men wearing suits?'

'Sherlock, you're not seriously jealous of you brother, are you?'

'Didn't like the way he looked at you.'

'Because you have nothing to be worried about, if you must know.'

Sherlock's lips curled up. But made a mental note to buy himself some suits in the near future, just in case.

'What kind of answer was that anyway? "He's not boring",' John mimicked Sherlock's haughty tone.

'My parents know me. They understand what that means.'

'Then would you care to explain that to me?'

'Just exactly that, John. With you, I'm never bored. Well, almost never anyway.'

'And that is supposed to be a good thing? To be enough for them?'

'No one has ever achieved that, John.'

'Ah, that's what made me fall for you, Sherlock. You are such a romantic!'

Sherlock smiled, then became serious again. 'Do you still want to do this, to tell your family?'

'I'm a bit trepidatious, to be honest. But yes.'

'How do you think they'll react?'

'I expect mum will be shocked, but will still accept it. Dad, well, I worry about how he'll handle it. Harry will probably just say nasty things.'

'Do you want me to be there with you?'

'No. I think having you with me would give me more courage to do it, but since I just don't know how they will react, maybe I should do this alone. I'll talk to them tonight and get this over with.'


	20. Harry and her parents

**A/Note** : Not having a beta makes me re-write more. I had to completely change the structure of this chapter (but not the actual spirit) once I realized it could be better - at the last minute. And refine the characters a bit more. That's why this is going out so late. Hope you'll like it.

* * *

 _._

 **20\. Harry and her parents**

Sherlock came over on the following day as usual. Harry opened the door and smirked at him.

'Oh _hello_ , Sherlock.' She dropped her voice and brought her face really close to his, still smirking. 'If you ever hurt my little brother, I'll personally hunt you down and break your teeth, you little bugger.' She finished the sentence with a quick wiggle of the eyebrows ( _how much alike John and her are_ ). Without waiting for his reply she turned and yelled, 'Johnny! Your boyfriend is here!'

'Harry!' John yelled from upstairs.

'You've told them,' Sherlock said.

She turned back and looked at him, uncertain. Her teasing smirk now gone. She was about to ask him something, but John came running down the stairs.

'Harry! Stop it!' He looked at her with knitted eyebrows and pulled him away from her. 'Come, Sherlock.'

...

John closed his bedroom door. 'Phew! Glad that's over. I was wrong, telling my family was the most I've sweated in my whole life.'

'Now that this whole issue is behind us, can we kiss?'

'Yes, dear God. Yes.'

There was loud banging on the walls and they heard Harry's muffled voice, _'Hey! No sex while I'm in the house!'_

'Shut it, Harry!' John yelled back. 'Mm, where were we?'

...

Due to Harry's constant teasing they had to hang out in the telly room, mostly talking, with some light snogging now and then. John told Sherlock all that had happened the previous night.

...

They were all seating at the kitchen table, dinner long gone; John's dad had his mouth open, his mum's eyes were watery, Harry stared wide-eyed. His mum got up and John copied her. She hugged him tight and they stood still for a while.

'You're still my son. I will love you no matter what.'

'Thanks, mum.'

John's dad still had his mouth open. He got up, went to a cupboard, got a whisky bottle out (showing some surprise once he noticed the amount left), poured himself a drink and downed it in one gulp, while still standing by the sink. Everybody waited.

'But... you've always dated so many girls,' was all he managed to say, palm up.

'Apparently, I like both. Although it wasn't until Sherlock that I've learned that.'

Mr. Watson still stared, still with his mouth open. He started to say something but stopped himself. He took a deep breath, frowning. He started saying something again and changed his mind. He leaned back against the counter and placed his free hand on it for support. He lowered his head and shook it briefly. Taking another deep breath he finally looked up. 'Well son, forgive me if it'll take me a while to get used to it. But like your mother said, you're still our son. I, ahem.' He poured himself another drink, but Harry reached out, took the tumbler from his hand and downed it herself.

'Harry!' All three Watsons yelled in unison.

Still holding the cup, she touched the back of her hand to her lips and closed her eyes. Then she started laughing. All three Watsons exchanged worried looks.

'Bravo. Bravo, little brother. Wow. Upstaged and shown by my own little brother.'

Everybody still stared at her. She put the tumbler down at the kitchen table, clunking it a little harder than she had intended.

'My perfect little brother, the star of the family, "the good one", the impeccably well mannered boy, captain of the rugby team, perfect grades. Gay.' And she laughed again.

'Bi-,' John corrected a bit sheepishly, omitting the "sexual" part of the word. The last thing he wanted was to bring attention to that aspect of his relationship and make his dad even more uncomfortable.

John's mum sighed, 'Harry, please.'

'No, no. I'm not saying that to be mean. I'm just astounded at the turn of events. Johnny, you pesky little shit, I so goddamn love you.' And she flung her arms around him, in a tight hug.

John's surprise was mirrored in his parents' faces. After a moment, she pulled back and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Then she looked into his eyes and said, 'If you have the guts to do it, so do I.' John stared at her with surprise.

She finally let go of him and turned to face her parents too. She took a deep breath. 'Mum. Dad. I'm gay.'

John's mum sat down with a thunk. John's dad's mouth dropped and he braced himself against the kitchen chair. After a few seconds of silence, he turned wide-eyed to his wife and asked, 'Love, you're not going to tell me you're gay too, are you?'

She snapped her head back at him with her mouth agape, then, after a pause, she started laughing.

'Now you know why I've been drinking so much lately. Didn't mean to upstage you, little brother,' she slapped the back of her hand on his chest.

'Drama queen,' he said, punching her lightly on the arm. Then he put his arm over her shoulders, 'I wish you had talked to me instead of going out and getting pissed.'

'Didn't know that, did I? Should've guessed when the only person you brought home was a pretty boy.'

'Now you know you can,' he tightened his arm.

'Yeah.'

'Harry, Love. I wish you had told us sooner.' Mrs. Watson pulled her into a tight hug. 'You are also still my daughter and I will love you all the same. I hope you know that.'

For the first time in a long while, Harry broke down and cried. 'Oh mum. I didn't know what to do, I was so scared.'

John couldn't remember the last time Harry had shed a tear, it surprised him. He finally understood what kind of pressure she must have been under that had led her to drink so much. He was just lucky he had Sherlock in his life.

'Harry, Harry. Hush, love. We're here for you,' Mrs. Watson whispered.

They stayed embraced for a while, Mrs. Watson caressing her daughter's hair to calm her silent crying. Then Harry pulled away and smiled at her mum, wiping away her tears.

'Oh Harry, Love.' Mr. Watson put a hand on her shoulder, his face scrunched, but he didn't say anything else.

'I know dad.'

He squeezed her shoulder and tightened his lips, then let go.

Mr. Watson looked around and all the family was staring at him, waiting. Clearing his throat, he frowned and started to say something, but changed his mind again. Widening his eyes and taking a deep breath, he spread his arms and said, 'Well, what am I supposed to say?' He crossed his arms and looked away. 'Bloody hell.' Then something occurred to him. 'I guess we won't have grandkids, will we?'

Mrs. Watson was the first to snort. Soon all four were laughing.

...

(...) 'mmJohn?'

(...) 'Mmm?'

(...) 'You're (...) going to be late for your non-date.'

'Oh, bugger! Can I see you tomorrow, then? Now that the talking is over?'

'Yes. Please.'

...

Sherlock was crossing the garden when he heard Harry's voice. 'You knew.'

He turned and now her usual teasing tone was gone. He nodded.

'You never told Johnny. He was surprised yesterday. Why?'

Sherlock shrugged, 'Until today, I thought everyone knew.'

She snorted a little. 'Well then, I guess I should thank you for keeping it in.'

It wasn't so much that he had been discreet. Truth be told, we was too absorbed with John to pay her much attention. Not knowing what to say, he nodded.

'Take care of him, will you? He really likes you.' She dropped her eyes and whispered, 'And thank you.'

Sherlock nodded again. He understood her: despite all the teasing, she did love John. She was turning to leave when he added, 'Your best friend-.'

She looked back at him.

He added, 'yes.'

.

* * *

 **A/Note** : Lucky for John, I have a more generous view of John's dad than **TheCauldron** and **Lulukaw**. :) You guys worry too much! I'm not that mean to John. But I couldn't reply to your reviews without giving away the plot.


	21. Surprise

**A/Note:** Thanks **bloodywitch136917** and **bookgirl111** for favoriting this story.

Sorry if this chapter is all over the place. But at this point, I'm just going to stop fretting and publish it. Enjoy a little lemon zest. ;)

* * *

 **21\. Surprise**

'John?'

'Yes, dad?'

'So... all this time, when you played rugby. Were you-. Was it-. Did you-. Was it because of the tackling?'

'Dad!'

'Well, you do have those posters in you bedroom-'

'No! I happen to like rugby, that's all, all right?'

'Well, you did do some wrestling-.'

'Dad!'

...

'John?'

'Yes, dad?'

'Have you- have you ever - eh - did you sleep with any of your ex-girlfriends?'

 _'Dad!'_

...

'John?'

John sighed, 'Yes, dad?'

Did you-. Have you-. Ahem, have you and Sherlock-

 _'Daad!'_

'Love, that's private, leave him alone!'

'Well, I'm just trying to understand it, you know? How can he like both boys and girls?'

'I don't know, dad. It just is.'

...

Except for John's father being a little weirded out and springing embarrassing questions at random times, life went more or less back to normal. Not surprisingly, his relationship with Harry got much better, now that she too felt that a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She was treating him more like an ally rather than a rival and was finally trying to quit drinking.

John felt much more relaxed now that he knew where they stood and could "openly" date (at least when going to each other's house). Obviously, they refrained from doing anything in front of their parents and siblings; that was highly embarrassing in itself, straight or gay, and still had to be sneaky when they did want a little more.

Mycroft's amused knowing looks were enough to kill any attempt of physical displays of affection. Thankfully he wasn't home much nowadays, only for short visits on the weekends. Only a few months away from graduation and he had already started a new job (with the influential MP who had invited him for the New Year's Eve party and the charity event) and was now living on his own (to Sherlock's delight). Those visits had caused many arguments between the brothers, unbeknownst to John. Mycroft had surprised Sherlock at how absurdly protective he was behaving nowadays. Knowing that John had had other partners, he constantly asked all sorts of embarrassing questions about whether or not they were practicing safe sex. Then, to Sherlock's greater annoyance, Mycroft saw the truth.

Which was, despite their heated encounters, both boys had not gone very far. And that was fine as far as Sherlock was concerned. It was just none of Mycroft's business.

Now and then John would try something a little more daring, but Sherlock would usually back away. He did worry that there would come a day when John would want more. Would he ever be able to? He didn't know.

For his part, John wasn't sure he wanted to "go all the way" with Sherlock. The prospect seemed a little unsanitary. Worse, what if Sherlock would ever want _him_? Could he? That was what had kept his head in place while Allan had pursued him.

...

A few weeks later, Sherlock was walking down a corridor hurriedly; he was running a bit late for his next Chemistry class. Suddenly he was grabbed from behind and shoved into a cleaning cupboard. It was dark in there, with only a bit of light coming through the vent at the top of the door. He recognised the cologne.

'What now?' he sighed exasperatedly, turning around.

Sebastian held his hands up. 'Just wanted to chat with you in private, that's all.'

'In a cleaning cupboard.'

'Yes. Soon everybody will be inside their classes, so this will be quiet, just between you and me.'

'What, you don't feel the need to have four of your mates with you to beat me up anymore?'

'No,' he took a step closer. Sherlock quickly evaluated their surroundings and assumed a fighting stance.

Sebastian raised his hands again, 'No need for that, Sherlock. Don't worry, I'm not going to fight you.'

Sherlock frowned. He had called him by his name this time, not "freak". 'What do you want?'

He took another step and Sherlock backed away, so Sebastian held his palms up, facing forward. 'It's all right, I'm not going to hit you. I just want to talk to you.'

Sherlock lowered his hands, but kept his body in a forty five degree angle, still ready and alert. Like hell he would trust Sebastian's peace offering.

'You've changed this year, you know?'

'Different haircut, a few inches taller, yes. So?'

'No, there's something else.' He was getting uncomfortably close now, and his breathing a bit more laboured. 'Something about how you carry yourself. You've become more - sensual.'

Sherlock widened his eyes. _Stupid! How did I miss this?_

'It's like something in you has been awakened,' he gestured towards Sherlock's body.

'Oh please, don't be so pedantic.'

He came closer still, so Sherlock took a step back and stumbled against the wall behind him. Sebastian put his hands on the wall on each side, trapping him.

'Look, I know I was a brute in the past, but I want to change it now. I want to get to know you better.' Sebastian's breathing was obscenely loud now. He ran the back of his fingers on Sherlock's face.

Sherlock was rooted to the spot, in shock. He felt goose pimples spreading on his nape. His throat felt constricted, he couldn't think, he couldn't move.

'I like your smell,' he whispered, inhaling deeply. 'I like the feisty ones. That's what I've always liked about you, Sherlock. You were never scared.' They were so close now that he could feel Sebastian's breath puffing over his face. 'That day you finally fought back caused a huge impression on me, you know?' He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and pulled him closer. Sebastian was hard. 'As you can tell, huge.' He rubbed himself against Sherlock as he spoke. 'You were cute before. But now you're such a pretty little thing.' And to his astonishment, Sebastian was leaning down to kiss him.

Sherlock was instantly reminded of the alley incident. He had to fight this irrational and paralysing fear and react. _Only John._ Sherlock's hands flew to the massive chest in front of him and firmly shoved it away. Sebastian stopped, but the heavy hands remained on his hips.

'Sebastian, as flattering as you may think this is, this is even less desirable than a fight with you.'

'I can be gentle too, Sherlock. Stick with me and you'll never have to worry about the others again. I'll take good care of you.'

Sherlock kept his arms firmly straight. 'No, not interested.'

'Come on, let me take you out for a ride right now. Let's skip class and have some fun.'

'No, Sebastian. Not now, not ever.'

Sebastian raised his hands, palms facing out, 'Calm down, Sherlock-'

Sherlock took this opportunity and quickly ducked under Sebastian's arms. He threw the cupboard door open, relieved for not being confined anymore. He turned his head just long enough to say 'Not you,' and walked away, with as much dignity as he could muster, trying hard not to run. Once he turned a corner, he shivered. He was trembling. He didn't like to admit it, not even to himself, but he had been scared. Much more scared than when all they wanted was to beat him. Just like that day in the alley.

...

'You're late, Mr. Holmes.'

'Yes, Professor. Terribly sorry. I was held up.'

The professor arched his eyebrows. It was very unusual for Sherlock to apologise. 'Erm, very well, take your seat, Mr. Holmes. Page fifty seven, experiment three.'

'Yes, Professor.'

John didn't like this. Sherlock looked flustered and disheveled.

'What happened,' he whispered.

'Nothing.'

'Trouble?'

'No.'

John sniffed, 'Are you wearing cologne?'

'No. I mean, I bumped into father this morning, maybe that's what you're smelling.'

John texted and Sherlock felt his pocket buzz a couple of seconds later. He waited five minutes to look at it.

 **'I prefer your smell. Never wear cologne. J'**

He smiled to himself.

Sherlock spent the whole class thinking about it. He decided against telling John. It could get very messy and very public, very quickly.

...

As soon as John walked into Sherlock's room, he was engulfed in a tight embrace while being fiercely snogged. There was a sense of desperation in Sherlock's kisses this time. Once the rush eased, he asked gently, 'Not that I'm complaining, but what has gotten into you today?'

'You also pounce on me, once in a while,' he said defensively.

'I'm not saying you can't, in fact I'd be delighted if you did it more. But this feels different. What's wrong?'

Sherlock paused. He wasn't exactly sure why he felt the way he did. A great part of it was the fact that the encounter with Sebastian had left him rattled. He searched for the appropriate words, but suddenly he understood what this was. 'I don't want to loose you.'

'You're not going to loose me, you berk. I'm not a dog to get lost, I can always find my way back to you,' he teased, punching Sherlock's arm lightly.

'I know. But sometimes I wonder-' he lowered his eyes.

'Yes?' John moved his head around, trying to catch Sherlock's eyes.

He pulled away and faced the room. 'I can't seem to. I don't know if I'll ever be able to. Allow you.' He dropped his voice and his gaze, even though his back was to John. 'To have me.'

'Sherlock,' he said gently, touching his shoulder, 'is that what's bothering you? Hey, I don't even know if we'll ever get to that, to be honest. I don't feel ready either.'

'Maybe not now, but eventually you might want to.'

'Then we'll talk about it if and when that happens. Come on, Sherlock.'

John made him turn around and held his arms, 'Sherlock, what we have, what we are, is more than just sex to me.'

He turned away again; he just couldn't say this while looking at John. 'What if I'm just a novelty to you? You've always liked girls. Eventually you will feel the need for real sex again. You'll have no trouble finding willing partners.'

'You're not just a novelty,' John hugged him from behind, 'and what we do is just as real to me. I don't want other partners.' He gently turned him around again, 'Sherlock, look at me.'

He did. John had his hands over his shoulders and stared intently into his eyes.

'Sherlock, I think I love you. I can't imagine being without you.'

Sherlock stared wide eyed, frozen.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, you're doing that again. Sherlock,' he shook him slightly.

Sherlock took a deep breath, blinked, then kissed him. Deeply, to show him what he couldn't put into words. John took his hand and guided him to the bed and both sat down. Touching Sherlock's cheek he kissed him.

(...) 'Even (...) if all (...) we ever do (...) is this, (...) I'm happy (...)'

'Mmmf John (...) shut up (...) and kiss me (...)'

...

John was lying on his stomach with his head turned, facing Sherlock. With his head propped up and lying on his side, Sherlock was running his other hand up and down John's back. He loved touching it.

John smiled and said, 'You have a thing for my back, don't you?'

Sherlock's eyes flicked sharply back to John's, his hand going still for a second.

'That's all right, I don't mind. I like it when you touch me there.'

Sherlock lowered his gaze with a small smile, his cheeks going a little pink.

'Sherlock, have you ever asked yourself if you would want to, you know, top me?'

'Yes, and the answer is I seriously doubt it. The mechanics of it are just unappealing to me. I like what we do better. Why?' He panicked slightly, eyes wide. 'You want me to?'

'No, not really.'

'Ah. Good.'

'Sherlock, the important thing is that we're both happy right now, yeah? If things change, we'll deal with it. Right now, it's all fine.'

John turned onto his side and touched Sherlock's chest with the back of his hand. 'I like what we do. I love looking at you and touching you.' He ran his hand down Sherlock's arm and slid it to his waist and hip. 'I've done my research too, you know? I've read that, contrary to what the porn industry wants you to believe, not all gay couples do it.' Then he leaned forward and kissed the pale chest, moving up to the neck. 'You know (...) what one of the advantages (...) of being a teenager is?'

'What?'

'Quick (...) recovery time,' he guided Sherlock's hand down.

'Ah,' he sighed. 'I see.' He moaned as he felt a hand on his stomach, sliding down, 'John, you're nng, insatiable.'

'Just how (...) you like me.'


	22. The hunt

**A/Note** : Thanks **moveyourlife** for favoriting this story. I had intended to use tabs to visually display texts, as to indicate whose point of view we're following. FF does not have that option. Grr. This is the best I can do.

The drama of this story was not them coming out to their families. Now you guys can start worrying. ;) And please review?

* * *

 **22\. The hunt**

.

 **'Meet me after class today?'**

 **_'J, I've told you before, you need to sign your texts. S'**

 **'Who's J?'**

Sherlock had goose pimples spread on his body and his eyes went wide.

 **_'Who's this? S'  
** **_'How did you get my number? S'  
** **_'Identify yourself. S'**

 **'Just me, Sherlock. Sebastian'**

 **_'How did you get my number? S'**

 **'I have my ways. Who's J? So you do have someone. Boy or girl?'**

 **_'Leave me alone. S'**

 **'I just want to show you I also have a gentle side, Sherlock. Come meet me after class.'**

 **_'No. Piss off. S'**

 **'Come on, Sherlock. Just to talk, please.'**

Sherlock didn't reply.

 **'If you come, I'll make all the others stop bothering you.'**

He couldn't care less. Sooner or later he would give up.

 **'If you don't, I'll spread rumours that J is John Watson.'**

His eyes widened. It took him a while to come up with an appropriate answer.

 **_'Nobody would believe you. John is very openly straight, if you haven't noticed. S'**

 **'Yes, but would you risk losing his friendship? He wouldn't stick around if everybody thought you two were shagging.'  
** **'I could be your friend too, if you let me. Meet me after class today.'**

 **_'Fine. S'**

 **'By the bleachers.'**

...

'Today?' he whispered.

'Sorry John, can't.'

'Why not?'

'I was informed I have a doctor's appointment, apparently.'

'Anything wrong?'

'No, just Mycroft thrusting his enormous nose into my life again. Wants to make sure we're "safe".'

John blushed and choked on his own saliva. 'Sherlock!' he hissed, eyes darting around them. 'Let me know how it goes,' he whispered.

'Of course.'

...

'I was wondering if you were actually going to show up.'

'Sebastian, this is ridiculous. Why are you doing this?'

'I like you, Sherlock. I know we started on the wrong foot, but I want to change it. I want to get to know you better.'

' "Started?" You mean a four-year-long start?' He huffed, 'Sebastian, how do you expect me to change my mind after all you've done to me?'

'By being different. Come with me, let me buy you dinner.'

'Too early and I'm not hungry.'

'Let me buy you an ice cream then.'

'It's cold out today.'

'So? I like ice cream even when it's cool outside. How about tea and dessert then? Look, I'm not a monster. Come on Sherlock, give me a chance. Let me take you out.'

'This is ludicrous,' he started walking away.

Sebastian grabbed his arm. 'Don't be that way, Sherlock. I don't want to have to spoil your - friendship - with John.' He let go and smiled. 'I've been watching you. I've seen how you look at him. You think the world of him, don't you? How do you think your _loyal_ friend would react if he learned you wanted more than just friendship out of him?' He smiled and walked around Sherlock, openly appraising him.

Sherlock kept staring straight ahead impassively, while his heart pounded in his chest. He felt a chill down his spine for not being able to watch Sebastian. He felt naked and fear threatened to render him paralysed again. He felt a puff of air in his ear and the words had a wave of goose pimples spread from his nape down to his whole body.

Sebastian whispered in a way intended to be sexy, only to come out as a bulldog attempting to hump his leg. 'Well, I think I can make you look at me that way too. Come on, let me take you out and treat you right.' He continued walking slowly around Sherlock like a hyena sniffing his prey, then he whispered on the other ear, 'I'll make you feel as special as you are. As you get to know me you'll see: I know how to make you feel - so - good.'

Sherlock lifted his head. 'If I go with you now - just this once -, will you leave me alone?'

Sebastian finished his survey and stopped facing him again. 'Just once?'

'One time only. Take it or leave it.'

'Always so feisty. All right. It's a start.'

He shook his head. 'Not a start. Just this once.'

Sebastian smiled widely. 'Let's go to Sugar 'N Spice. On me.'

He took a step forward but Sherlock turned and walked. Sebastian walked alongside him and put a hand on the small of his back.

'No touching. Keep your hands to yourself.'

'All right, Sherlock.'

'And I'm not getting in the car with you.'

'Why not? Sugar 'N Spice is really far from here.'

'Then I'll meet you there.'

'Sherlock, don't be silly. I can drive us. I can be a gentleman, I assure you.'

'Forgive me if I don't believe you. For all I know, this is a ruse to beat me up again.' _Or worse._

'No, Sherlock. I wouldn't dream of marring your pretty face ever again,' he stretched out his hand, but Sherlock pulled his face out of reach.

'Ach, fine. We can take the tube.'

'Good.'

...

Sherlock was unmoved by Sebastian's unctuous cliches. He didn't touch his tea or the scone and kept his arms crossed.

'Sherlock, can't you see I'm trying? Don't be like that.'

'What did you expect? You beat me up for fours years. Can I go now?'

'Only answer me this then. Are you gay?'

'If you must know, no I'm not. Goodbye, Sebastian,' he stood up. 'Thanks for the tea.'

'I don't believe you. Who's J? Is that a boy or a girl?'

Sherlock turned away.

'Cause I have a feeling it's John Watson.'

He didn't pause or look back. 'Think whatever you want Sebastian.'

He walked away, his stomach in knots, a sinking feeling that filled him with dread. They should've changed their initials, just to be safer. _Stupid!_

As he sat on the tube, Sherlock's mind was working feverishly. Their entire interaction was pretty much an admission on his part. He had to avoid exposing John at all costs. Once he got home, he grabbed a blanket and his cigarettes and headed to his thinking spot.

 _J. Janet? No, can't stand her giggling.  
_ _J. Jennifer? No, she does date that behemoth of a rugby player. No good.  
_ _J. Julie? Not credible, she's gay.  
_ _J. Joan? Ugh.  
_ _J. Juliette? Ew. Even worse.  
_ _J. Judy? Too stupid, nobody would believe that.  
_ _J. Janine? Hm. A possibility.  
_ _J. What's her name? Jhuma? She's smart- Heavens no, she has that nervous tick.  
_ _J. Jing? Not bad. A possibility._

 _Jing and Janine._

 _Jing is an interesting option. With her different background I could have interesting conversations with her, or at the very least, practice my Chinese. And she is somewhat smart. And attractive._

 _Janine is not too stupid. In fact, she fakes being less smart than she really is, just to fit in with that frivolous group she hangs out with. She is credibly attractive to most._

 _Jing prefers blonds. Whenever John and I are together she always looks at him first._

 _Janine. I have caught her looking at me, even when John is not around._

 _Janine. J._


	23. The game is on

**A/Note** : Thanks to **FancyMandie** and **lholl37** for favoriting this story and the reviews and follows so far. You guys are really trusting to favorite it before the end.

* * *

.

 **23\. The game is on**

When Sherlock walked back to his house, filled with regret he deleted all the texts they had ever exchanged. Locking his door, he called John.

'Hey Sherlock! How did it go?'

'Hmf, tedious. Just "routine", they said.'

'Did Mycroft give you a hard time?'

'No different than always. But listen, I need to ask you something.'

'Okay.'

'From now on, please sign all your texts as "John". Full name, no initials, no abbreviations.'

'Why? I thought we had decided-'

'And always say Sherlock for my name, even if I still sign as "S". But never, ever, under any circumstances, write anything personal. Never ask me to meet later, that sort of thing.'

'Why?'

'You wanted secrecy. What if someone ever gets ahold of my phone? All they have to do is click on the string and call you.'

'But your phone has a password.'

'Yes, but what if one of the bullies takes it from me while I'm using it?'

'All right, good point.'

'Thank you. Anything personal, say it verbally to me. And obviously, not at school, but only when we're alone, either at my house or yours.'

'How am I to ask to meet you, then?'

'We develop coded words. Nothing too complicated, something like "A" for my house, "B" for yours. "A or B?" Simple enough. Or call me after school.'

'Jesus, Sherlock. All right.'

'Also, delete all the texts you've ever exchanged with me.'

'But I don't want to!'

'John, what if they get ahold of your phone? Please, I ask you, do it.'

John sighed, 'All right. I will. Is that all?'

'For now.'

'Good. Erm, I have something to tell you.'

'What? What's wrong?'

'Nothing's wrong. It's just- Well, em, Allan texted me.'

Sherlock felt as if all his blood had shifted down in his body. 'And?'

'Says he's on leave, visiting his family. He wants to see me.'

'And you said no?'

'No, I mean, I do want to talk to him.'

Sherlock's stomach dropped. 'What for?'

'I want to tell him I'm in a relationship, so he'll stop pursuing me.'

He wrinkled his nose. After a pause, he finally accepted it. 'All right. When are you seeing him?'

'He's picking me up in an hour. We're going to grab something to eat.'

'That's a date!'

'No, it's not a date!'

'He's taking you out to dinner! It's a date.'

'Not to me.'

'In his mind it is. He'll try-'

'Sherlock. Please trust me, I don't want him. I want you.'

After much back and forth and John getting progressively soppier, Sherlock let go. He waited for John to call him afterwards but nothing happened. He didn't sleep that night.

...

He spotted Janine on the corridor the following day. He wondered if he should bother at this point, but decided it wouldn't hurt to go ahead with his plan. If anything, at least Sebastian would see he was interested in girls and would leave him alone.

'Janine?'

'Ah! Oh, Sherlock! Sorry, you startled me.'

 _Dilated pupils, nervousness when she's usually confident. I was right._

'Janine, I was wondering. I was distracted at our last Physics class and didn't take notes. Could I please borrow yours?'

'Wow, um, yes, of course!' She touched his arm briefly.

 _Signs of flirting: small touches._

He touched her arm with a gentle squeeze and smiled, saying in his most gentle tone 'Thank you.'

'Um, maybe you can meet me at the cafeteria today at break? You can copy it then, if you want.'

He smiled, _Smart girl, that's it_. 'I would love to. See you at lunch?'

She smiled, twirling her hair around a finger. 'Yes, see you at lunch.'

 _This will be perfect. John has practice today, so he lunches later. We'll be seating together, just the two of us and Sebastian is bound to see it._

...

Once Sherlock walked into the cafeteria, he searched for Sebastian, who caught his eye. He continued searching, until he spotted her. She waved happily, so he smiled, went to her table and sat down. He could feel Sebastian's eyes on his back.

...

'Hello John.'

'Hey Sherlock, can I see you today?'

'How was your - meeting - with Allan?'

'That's what I want to talk about. Can I come over?'

'Yes.'

Sherlock didn't like this. Why is that he couldn't just say it over the phone? He tried to swallow his jealousy.

...

John walked in, his forehead crinkled. 'Can we talk here?'

'Yes, no one else is home right now.'

John went straight into the sitting room and sat down. Sherlock followed and waited.

'Well, I told him. Not who you were, but that I had met someone and was in a serious relationship and couldn't meet him anymore.'

'And?'

'He asked me if it was a bloke or a girl and I told him the truth. He was upset, but understood. We never had a real relationship, only our friendship as team mates.'

'Then why do I sense that's not all?'

John looked down, elbows over his knees. 'When we got back to the car, he drove around a bit.'

Sherlock inhaled. He still remembered that dark area in the woods.

'He parked. He kissed me.'

Sherlock felt a pool of fire burning inside him. He narrowed his eyes. 'And what else?'

'Nothing else. That's all. I stopped him.'

'Did he touch you?'

'He- no, he didn't.'

'You're lying.'

'Well, he did run his hands over me as he kissed me, but not- not like _that_.'

Sherlock stood up and paced around. He was furious, _How dare he? To just come whenever is convenient for him and try to sweep John away from me?_

'Sherlock, please. We said our goodbyes yesterday. He won't call again.'


	24. The question of J

**A/Note** : My thanks to all of you who have been posting reviews. I'm glad to see you care about what happens to my characters, I must have done _something_ right. :) In that vein, sorry for all the anxiety. Sorry for the shortish chapter tonight.

* * *

.

 **24\. The question of J**

'Sherlock?'

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed. He was not in the right mood today after yesterday's fight with John. But once he opened his eyes, he saw Sebastian turning onto the corridor he was in. He was talking to someone and was just about to face forward.

Sherlock turned around with a warm smile.

'Janine, how are you?'

'Um, fine. You?'

'Better now,' he winked for good measure.

She giggled, twirling a strand of hair, 'I was wondering, I know you're very good at Chemistry. That's the only subject I struggle with, my grades haven't been stelar. Could you-' she touched his arm, 'would you help me with that?'

'I'd be delighted. What do you have in mind?'

'Meet me after class perhaps? Maybe we can go to the Library and study?'

Sebastian just walked by, staring at them. He had a strange look on his face, as their eyes met. Sherlock felt that sense of dread again. Suppressing a shiver, he quickly looked back at Janine, smiling.

'Sure. When would be a good time for you?'

'Um. Today?'

Sherlock's heart sank a bit, he had plans with John. But Sebastian had stopped to "tie up his shoe".

'Today would be perfect.'

She smiled and touched his arm again. 'Thanks!'

'You're very welcome.'

...

'Can't meet today,' Sherlock whispered.

'Why not?'

'Later.'

'Oh, stop sulking.'

'Not sulking.'

'You're still mad at me over _that_?'

Sherlock stared straight ahead as the class started.

...

 _Well, that wasn't so bad._ Janine was smart and had actually asked real questions regarding the different experiments they had performed in class. In the end, it was almost like talking to a fellow chemist. She did not struggle with Chemistry at all.

'So "J" was for Janine?' Sebastian stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

Sherlock sighed. 'I would've thought once you figured it out you would at least have the decency of leaving me alone.'

'I'm disappointed, Sherlock. I thought we could work things out between us.'

'There is nothing that can be worked out between us. Now that you know who J is, please stop trying.'

'Not sure I believe you, though,' he narrowed his eyes. 'She might be after you, but I'm not sure you're into her.'

'Believe whatever you want, Sebastian,' he repeated and walked away.

Sherlock was yanked back by the arm and before he could react Sebastian's face was very close to his. 'I should warn you Sherlock: if you ever try to tell anybody about what happened between us, I will tell the whole school that you and John are shagging.'

'That's not even remotely true.'

'But John wouldn't like that, would he?'

Sherlock kept his mouth shut.

Sebastian smirked. 'Didn't think so.'

...

They met on the following Saturday and everything finally went back to normal between them.

'You should know by now I only have eyes for you, Sherlock. Everybody else fell into a distant past.'

'You're being overly and annoyingly sentimental.'

'Yet, you love hearing it.'

Sherlock inhaled to reply but was silenced by John's lips.

...

A couple of weeks went by. Now and then he talked to Janine and she had asked for his number, so they could "coordinate Chemistry studies". He asked her to sign her texts with "J", so he'd know at a glance when they were from her. She was pleased.

Sebastian did leave him alone, but now and then Sherlock would catch him staring, especially whenever he talked to Janine, and that was more disturbing than being beat up.

...

After the Easter break Sebastian was back to being annoying. Whenever Sherlock was on his own, he would stand on his way and challenge his sexuality again, while his mates laughed and jeered. There was a definite air of defiance about him, in what was clearly a show of how much control he held over Sherlock.

He tried to ignore it, but Sebastian would tease him in a more physical way now. He'd smack or pinch his behind as he walked by, hold his arm and throw insults very close to his face, grab the front of his shirt and rub Sherlock's chin with his thick thumb, or grab him by the nape. He knew what Sebastian was doing and it was disgusting. But he should not react, he had to protect John.

 _I'll be changing schools next term. Only a few more weeks left._


	25. The Ball

**A/Note** : I was so focused on where I was going with this story that, as **TheCauldron** pointed out (not in so many words), I let John down. There's no way that John would've been this oblivious to Sherlock's "relationship" with Janine. After all, all three of them take Chemistry, where she would have definitely tried to talk to him, steal glances, etc. Not to mention the gossip that would certainly arise. Sherlock would have explained it was all for show and all would have been fine. Until... well, you'll see.

But now it's too late to change things, so my apologies to John. He wouldn't have missed all this. This is something that my former beta would've picked up, keeping me on my toes, making my stories better. Sorry for the oversight.

* * *

.

 **25\. The Ball**

'Sherlock, I need to talk to you,' John said as he answered the phone.

'Why do I sense that this doesn't sound good?'

'No, it's nothing bad. Well, you know. It's the end of the year Ball.'

'I thought your last game was the end of the season.'

'No, I mean The Ball. The school dance at the end of the month.'

'Ah.'

'Erm, if it's okay with you, I'm thinking of asking Mary to go with me. We're good friends. I'd love to just go with you, but, you know.'

'I know.'

'Are you going?'

'Don't see a reason why.'

'Ah. Okay. You're okay with this, right?'

'Yes, fine.' He still didn't like it, but he thought it would be good if Sebastian saw John with Mary.

...

 **'Sherlock, are you going to the Ball? J'**

He still had to catch himself anytime he got a text from her.

 **_'Wasn't planning to. S'**

 **'Um, I need to ask you a favour. J'**

 **_'J, you're texting, why "um"? S'**

 **'You prat. :) Can I talk to you quickly after class today? J'**

 **_'All right. S'**

...

'You berk!' she hit his arm playfully.

'You said a favour.'

'Um, I was going to go to the Ball with Scott, but he, uh, we had a spat.'

He was dreading it ever since she had mentioned the Ball on her text.

'Would you go with me?'

He smelled a familiar and sickeningly strong men's cologne in the air. He grinned, 'I'd be delighted to, Janine.'

...

He tried to sound casual, 'Apparently I am going to the Ball.'

'Yes? Why, did someone ask you?'

'Janine did. As a favour.'

'What do you mean? And why Janine? I didn't know you were friends with her!'

'I've been helping her with Chemistry and she had a spat with her date, so she asked me to fill in.'

'You've been helping her with Chemistry? Since when?'

'Since... Allan's visit.'

John looked at him sideways.

...

Sherlock bought a suit for the occasion with John in mind. He searched everywhere for something that made him look good (quite a task, since he still had no muscles) and hopefully remind John that he was in much better shape than his brother - just in case. He couldn't wait to see his reaction.

Janine did look resplendent in her long gown. The maroon colour suited her, and she was grinning like mad. Her mum insisted in taking pictures of them, winking at her daughter when he picked her up.

...

At the Ball, his jaw clenched when he saw John in a slow dance with Mary. He knew it was "just for show", but couldn't help feeling a bit _well, all right, yes, jealous_ as John smiled at her. He had never seen John in a suit before. He looked different, yet, quite dashing. Janine pulled him by the hand, and he was alarmed when he understood what that meant.

'Janine, I really don't-'

'Oh sush, just put your hands on my waist and swing from one foot to the other.'

He felt like a waddling penguin, but did as he was told. It surprised him that she had stepped so close, pressing her body against his. Halfway through the song he saw John staring curiously at them, then turning back to Mary. Then Sherlock saw Sebastian staring at them. _Avoid looking at John at all costs tonight_ , he chided himself. Once the interminable song was finally over, he kept at her side. They chatted sporadically through shouting on each other's ears and pretended to dance once in a while. She always picked the slow dances, for some reason. Which were easier than the thumping fast ones, at least.

'Sherlock!' she screamed in his ear, 'do you want to go outside?'

'I'd love to,' he yelled back at her. _Why do people always think that loud and boring is better than quiet and boring?_

She grabbed his hand and pulled him through the crowds.

Once outside, he was momentarily deaf. The contrast with the surrounding non-sound made it feel like there were rubber balls in his ears.

'Ah, so much better, don't you think?'

'Couldn't agree more,' he said, opening his jaw to make his ears pop.

She turned and, holding both of his hands, leaned back against the wall, in the shadows. Alarm bells rang in his head.

'I'm so glad you could come with me, Sherlock.'

He looked around and there were several couples snogging. Sebastian, the creep, was watching them.

'Can we go somewhere else? Too many eyes around here,' he wrinkled his nose, looking around for an escape route.

She looked down, giggling and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, then looking back up. 'Why? What do you have in mind, Sherlock?'

He looked back at her, uncomprehending her words at first. Then his eyes widened and he said, slightly alarmed, 'Oh! Janine, I didn't mean to be disrespectful-'

'What if I want you to be?' she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck.

 _Bloody Hell!_ He searched his mind for any sort of reply that could halt this. 'What about Scott?'

'He's just a friend, that's all. We're not a couple.'

 _Well, how bad can it be? Just close your eyes and do it. Sebastian is watching, it has to be convincing._

He closed his eyes, and imagining how he kissed John, he leaned down, wrapping his arms around her waist. She was much softer than John, for one thing. And there was some extra soft cushioning pressed against his chest. Her perfume was too floral, so her scent was wrong. She was eagerly pressing her body against his. This was new. Not unpleasant. Kissing her was a bit different, but he tried to block the glaring differences and kept thinking of John to emulate his reactions. The silky texture of her dress felt luxurious under his hands. Against his mind's consent, his body responded to all the physical stimuli. She broke the kiss, panting. 'Wow, Sherlock!' And before he could feel embarrassed for it, she came back for more, now even more eagerly rubbing against him. The physical sensation was overwhelming. He had never considered it with anybody else other than John but, right at that moment, his body wanted more friction.

Alarmed, he broke the kiss, panting, creating a little space between them. 'Janine, we should stop.'

'Yes, I think you're right.' She smiled at him, also panting. 'Not here.'

 _Not anywhere_ _. Not Ever._ 'Maybe we should go back in? Dance some more?' He stepped back, clasping his hands behind his back.

'Yes. Sure,' she tucked a strand behind her ear, smiling.

He felt Sebastian's eyes on his back so he kept staring straight ahead as they walked back in. What he didn't see was John, hyperventilating against a tree.


	26. Parked in a dark place

**A/Note** : Happy Thanksgiving too all the readers on my side of the pond. To all of you on different sides of different ponds, Happy Thursday with this new chapter. Hopefully (if not by content) it'll make up for yesterday's late post, as it's coming out almost in a row.

My thanks to the guest (s?) who posted the last reviews. Thanks for letting me know that Chapter 14 worked. I was surprised that, up until now, no one had commented on that one.

 **Trigger warning** : It's hard to give warnings without giving away the plot. But there is a possibility of sexual violence in this one.

* * *

.

 **26\. Parked in a dark place**

He walked her to the front door and she kissed him chastely. 'See you Monday?'

'Yes, of course,' he frowned.

'I had a good time, Sherlock.'

'Goodnight, Janine.'

'Goodnight.'

He turned around and walked away; he could hear her getting inside and closing the door. As he was closing the low gate, he heard a voice behind him. 'Quite the show tonight.'

He rolled his eyes, 'Sebastian, don't you have better things to do?'

'I do, that's why I'm here.'

He turned to face him, but was struck on the chin. The world went dark and he was plunged into nothingness.

...

When he came to, he found himself lying on the back seat of a car, with his own tie binding his hands and tethered to the handle above the window. He moved his jaw around and could feel the spot where he was hit. The car was just stopping at a darkened area.

'Ah, you're awake, good.'

'Sebastian, what are you doing?'

'I enjoyed your little show this evening, now I want to do something about it,' he said, squeezing between the two front seats.

Sherlock felt his stomach drop. 'Sebastian.' He couldn't speak, his throat felt constricted.

'I just can't help it. You look so sexy in that suit. That girl was a good warm up, but I can give you something she can't.' He straddled Sherlock.

'Sebastian. Don't.'

'I could make you feel good too, you know?' Sebastian lowered himself, held Sherlock's head with both hands and kissed him. Soon he was rubbing himself against Sherlock, running his hands all over his body. 'I've wanted you for so long, I'm not going to wait anymore.'

Sherlock struggled, but Sebastian was too strong and heavy, he couldn't move. With his hands bound, there was no way to fight. He could improvise with his feet, but what he really needed was to free his hands. He felt the panic rising inside him and the threat of a trembling fit gathering momentum. He thought again of the alley, of John. _Control you fear. If not for yourself, for John._

In a flash, two things came to mind.

* * *

First, it was something that Mr. Bart had said:

 _Sherlock, if there's one person that can defeat others using your brain rather than punches, that's you. This (tapping his own head) is your greatest weapon. Use what you know about your opponents against them. Psychological warfare, if you will._

The other, was from a forensics programme he had seen a while back:

 _A serial killer had already kidnapped, raped and killed eight women and the police was at a loss, with no clues or witnesses. Until the murderer made a mistake: he let one woman live. Interviewed, she explained that, during the several days while she was held captive and repeatedly raped, she started saying things like "Let me stay, I'll stay and be your girlfriend," over and over. She had a confident air as she said that. Confused, the man didn't know what to make of it. Whenever she was allowed to use the loo, she left fingerprints everywhere: under the toilet tank cover, under the sink, inside the medicine cabinet. She didn't think she'd ever get out of her ordeal alive, so she tried to leave as much evidence of her presence as possible. When time came for him to get rid of her, he blindfolded her, had her lie down on the back seat and drove around, stopping at a cashpoint machine. There was a gap at the bottom of the blindfold, so she was able to see a few street names now and then, as well as the bank's logo. Then, to everyone's astonishment, he dropped her off in an isolated place, but unharmed and alive. Later on, using her information, the police was able to locate the cashpoint machine and trace the receipts back to him._

* * *

He changed tactics then.

He closed his eyes and made himself go limp, relaxing all his muscles. Then, pushing aside his revulsion, he thought about John. Once more, he had to make this credible. He ignored the strong men's cologne, manipulated his breathing to emulate excitement and, after a suitable time, started kissing back.

It was working. Sebastian slowed down and now was moaning in his mouth.

'Oh Sherlock, kiss me.'

And he did. Kissed him as if he wanted it. He concentrated on his image of John and moaned and pressed into him. He spread his legs to cradle Sebastian's hips and arched his back. Panting, he whispered, 'Sebastian, I can make you feel good too. Please, let me touch you.'

But Sebastian backed away and ripped his shirt open, kissing, licking and sucking his neck, making his way down to his nipples. Sherlock grimaced in disgust, he could feel prickly stubble, slobber and teeth nibbling on him painfully. Yet, he pushed his chest up and moaned, 'Please, let me touch you.' Sebastian backed again and to Sherlock's horror, unbuckled his own belt, opened his fly and shoved his trousers and pants down in one sweep. He stroked himself, staring at Sherlock. He tried his best to look aroused, but the image of John faded as Sebastian's intentions became clear.

Sherlock's eyes were wide now. _God, he's big!_ He wasn't acting anymore; his panting was real. _Play with his ego._ Keeping his eyes down at Sebastian's member he said, 'Oh God, you're so big. Please Sebastian, let me touch you.'

Sebastian stared at him, then after some thinking, reached up and started fiddling with the binding. 'Please, I want to touch you,' and for good measure, Sherlock arched his naked stomach against Sebastian. He could feel a sticky wetness making a disgusting mess on him. Sebastian moaned and continued rubbing himself on him as he struggled to untie Sherlock.

As soon as his hands were free, Sherlock wrapped his legs around Sebastian and locked his feet.

'Oh yes, Sherlock.'

He wrapped his arms around Sebastian's neck and turned his face away, as if offering his own. He felt wet lips slobbering and sucking on his neck, stubble unpleasantly scratching him. Sliding his hands towards the front, he quickly crossed them and, placing the back of his hands on either side of Sebastian's thick neck he grabbed the collar. Pulling both hands towards each other, he rotated his right fist, pressing against the throat. Sebastian's eyes flew open and he struggled reaching up, but Sherlock kept his grip tight and feet locked. With wide eyes, Sebastian struggled, but soon passed out, collapsing on top of Sherlock.

Heart hammering on his chest, Sherlock let go and shoved Sebastian off of him. He struggled to get through him and to the passenger's door, but made it out, stumbling and falling off the car. He had no idea of where he was, but ran as far away and as fast as he could.

.


	27. Restrained

**A/Note** : Thanks **Idahohorsegirl92** for favoriting my story, and the followers and reviews.

* * *

.

 **27\. Restrained**

John was tossing and turning, angry. He couldn't sleep. If Janine weren't a girl he would've punched her right there at the Ball. He was furious with Sherlock. _How long had this been going on? "Since Allan's visit", he had said. Spite._ Was Sherlock so jealous of Allan that had decided to cheat on him? _With Janine? Why Janine?_ Well, John had seen her looking at Sherlock, but regarding girls' attentions he was always so aloof. _Or so he said. There was nothing aloof about the way he held her and kissed her. Kissed her!_

He was swallowing down tears, he would not cry over this. _Nope. No way._

He jolted, his phone was buzzing. It was an unknown number. He didn't want to answer and waited a bit, it was almost one in the morning. But he speculated it could be Sherlock calling from Janine's phone and at this time of the night, it could only be an emergency.

'John? I'm glad you're awake-'

'You have the nerve! I saw you snogging Janine, is this her phone? How long has this been going on? How could you do this to me?'

'Erm, John, I know I owe you many explanations, but right at this moment I need your help. I need someone to pick me up at the police station and take me to my father's car, so I can go home. If you please,' he added for good measure.

...

John burst through the police station's doors, head swivelling all around. Sherlock felt a small jolt and stood up, relieved to see him. Clearly John had dressed hastily and haphazardly, and his hair stuck up at odd angles.

John's eyes found him and examined him from head to toe. The first thing he saw was a blackening bruise on his chin. Sherlock's hair was a mess and the suit jacket was buttoned up, holding the two separate sides of his shirt together, the tie gone. His right knee was torn and scuffed. He approached and there were red marks on his neck. _Hickeys._ His eyes went down to examine the shirt and some buttons were missing, others barely hanging by a thread. There were scratch marks on his chest. _Those happened when his shirt was torn. Janine? No, the hands that did that are much larger._ Then he saw Sherlock's wrists. He held them up for a better look; there were red marks on them and his knuckles were abraded, his right palm scraped. _Sherlock was tied, but fought back._

He couldn't piece together what had happened. The last thing he knew, Sherlock had been snogging Janine. Then he smelled it.

 _Men's cologne and someone else's sweat._ _He was punched and tied. He fought back. Shirt ripped open, hickeys, scratches._

His forehead moved as he understood. 'Sherlock, are you hurt?' John asked softly.

He opened his mouth to answer but there was a shrill cry at the door.

'Sherlock! What happened?' Mrs. Holmes was rushing in with Mr. Holmes right behind.

Sherlock sighed, 'They said as a minor I needed my parents to pick me up, not just you, after I had already called-'

'Sherlock!' She turned him by the shoulders to face her, touched his cheek and noticed the bruise. 'Who did this to you?' She turned to John, wide eyed.

'It wasn't him, mummy. I called him to pick me up, he just got here.'

'Mr. and Mrs. Holmes?' an absurdly bass voice spoke, making all of them jump.

'Perhaps we can talk in my office? Son, why don't the two of you wait in that room for just a bit?'

Sherlock didn't wait and pulled John with him. It would be easier to tell him without his parents around anyway.

...

...'So as I ran, I was picked up by a patrol car. Once I explained what had happened, they called for another car to get Sebastian. I was hoping to get out of here before his parents arrive, but I don't think we'll make it now. It was most interesting though, they rubbed swabs on my stomach, photographed my injuries; although I had to point out they should scrape under my fingernails - which they dismissed saying they had enough material, that I watched too much telly and this "was no murder case"-'

'Sherlock!', John said. 'Stop.'

He was horrified, angry and astonished. But with Sherlock going on and on about the "interesting" process he had just gone through made it clear that he wasn't all right. Sherlock needed him. And he needed to stay calm. He stretched his hand and gently touched Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock closed his eyes and turned into the hand, taking a deep breath.

'How are you feeling?', he asked.

Sherlock smiled briefly, 'John, I'm not a little bird ready to fly away, you can speak to me in a normal tone.'

Before John could say anything else there was a gentle knock on the door. He let his hand fall.

'Sherlock dear,' his mum said at the door, 'we need to talk to you. John, if you don't mind-'

'I want him to stay.'

'Very well,' his father closed the door and sat down around the table.

'How are you, dear?' His mum stretched her hand towards him, but halted and contained herself. She too sat down.

'I'm fine. I just want to go home, this has been tedious. They wouldn't let me go on my own. We still need to get father's car.'

'Never mind the car. Do you want to press charges?' His father asked.

'I don't know if that'll do any good.' He paused. 'Perhaps we can make an agreement with his parents?'

'What do you have in mind?' Mr. Holmes had a hard look on his face. John had never thought Mr. Holmes could ever look that angry, he was just glad it wasn't directed at him.

'Maybe have them agree to get him some psychological treatment and move him to a different school? With a restraining order. Then I won't press charges.'

'The officer says he claims you egged him on, leading him to it,' his mum said cautiously.

'I only pretended to want it so he'd untie me. I couldn't defend myself while being tied up. He _was_ going to rape me, there was no question about it.'

John pursed his lips and his face darkened, Mrs. Holmes' forehead crinkled in anguish, Mr. Holmes clenched his fists on the table.

'Has he been harassing you all this time?' Mr. Holmes asked.

'Yes. Well, he bullied me for four years, but as for the sexual harassment, it's been a couple of months.'

 _'Months?'_ John cried, 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'He suspected we were together, I didn't want him to out us and cause you trouble.'

'You mean he tried this before?' John was furious.

'He tried to kiss me once and forced me to meet him after class another time.'

'He _forced_ you?' John stood up, livid. Mrs. Holmes touched his arm to calm him, so he sat back down.

'Not physically; he threatened to spread rumours about us. That's why I started pretending Janine was "J".'

John's forehead moved once he understood. 'That's why you told me not to sign my texts as "J" anymore!'

'After I started meeting Janine to study he backed away, but started using his bullying as an excuse to touch me.'

'He _touched_ you?' John stood up again, his face red, fists clenched.

'Sometimes he slapped my tush, sometimes just grabbed my arm or nape.'

John spun around and kicked the wall. Fists still clenched, he stopped with a hand on his waist and an arm over his eyes as he breathed hard, trying to calm himself down. Finally he turned around and sat back down, frowning.

'I'm sorry,' he said quietly.

'Sherlock, are you sure?' His father asked. 'Do you want to think about it?'

'No. There's nothing else to think about. Can we go now?'

...

Their family solicitor had just arrived so Mr. Holmes stayed at the station to talk to Sebastian's parents. John took Sherlock and Mrs. Holmes home. She said they would worry about the car later. Clearly she just wanted to put her son to bed, tuck him in and assure herself that he was safe.

But she knew that underneath his bored look Sherlock needed John.

'Why don't you come in for a bit, John? I can make you some tea and let you boys talk in the sitting room for a while. Not too long, mind you. It's very late and your parents will be worried if they wake up and find out you're not home.'

Sherlock sighed but John thanked her.

Once she went into the kitchen, John hugged him. 'Oh Sherlock.' There were so many things in his mind right now he didn't know what to say.

'I lost my phone in Sebastian's car and - well, I suppose I could've asked to use the station's phone again and tell you they had called my parents. But the truth is, I still wanted you to come.'

'I don't mind. It was good that I was there, otherwise you and your mum would still be waiting at the police station.'

Sherlock had been stiff, but slowly sagged into his arms. He finally allowed himself to shiver. John tightened his hold.

'It's all right, Sherlock,' he whispered. 'It's over now. He won't hurt you anymore. You're safe. You're home.'

Sherlock just allowed himself to be held. He didn't feel the need to say anything. John was here.

Mrs. Holmes had returned to ask if they were hungry, but stopped at the kitchen door when she saw them hugging. Bracing herself with a hand on her chest, her eyes stung as she watched her usually cold son shivering and John's comforting words. Sherlock had found love. And was finally allowing himself to be vulnerable and to be held. With a mix of happiness and envy heavy in her heart, she quietly stepped back into the kitchen to finish making tea. She already thought John was a nice boy, but that night he definitely won her over.


	28. Last week of school

**A/Note** : So this story shows how our characters became who they are, and Sherlock was not the only one affected by all that happened so far.

* * *

.

 **28\. Last week of school**

Sherlock didn't like it, but Mycroft came for a visit once he learned of what had happened. He looked positively distraught - i.e., his know-it-all smirk was gone and there was an extra hard edge in his eyes. They never talked about what happened, just went about their day as usual, bickering as they had always done, engaging in a duel of wits to outsmart each other. For once, Sherlock was thankful for Mycroft's sense of propriety.

Mycroft vowed to himself to never let anything bad happen to his little brother ever again. There was a certain frailty in Sherlock's inability to socially navigate life that would certainly only attract disaster. Hopefully John would keep him a bit safer, at least while their relationship lasted. Mummy expressed optimism, but he wasn't so sure they could last. Who would be willing to put up with Sherlock's lack of understanding of social graces for long? He wasn't sure how, but he would do all in his power to keep John around.

His own ambition to become the most powerful man in Britain now had an extra incentive to achieve his goal. Only then he would be able to truly protect his brother. After these few months under the local MP he came to understand that merely becoming the Prime Minister would not necessarily be the best way to attain power. In the first weeks alone he had already determined that the greatest power can be held behind the scenes.

He would have to keep an eye on Sebastian from now on, even if that meant some legwork on his part. He started mapping his career in such a way that soon he would have a crew under him, so he would eventually be able to delegate this task.

...

Sherlock dreaded going back to school. Convincing his parents to let him stay home for a few days was not difficult. He had been told Sebastian wouldn't be there, but still, as much as he hated to admit it, there was a bit of an irrational fear that he just couldn't shake off. He still had a few tests left though, so after three days off there was no way of avoiding it anymore.

As soon as he stepped into the corridor, people seemed to be looking at him, then averting their eyes.

He frowned. He checked his own clothes, but nothing was amiss. The bruise was still slightly visible, but then again, him being bruised was nothing out of the ordinary. He walked towards his class.

Once he rounded a corner, he saw Sebastian's friends talking in a circle. He stopped and considered his options. He'd rather avoid them and miss class and had just taken a step back when one of them spotted him.

'Hey, Sherlock!'

In no time they were all standing in front of him, except they didn't look angry or aggressive. They looked _sheepish?_ Some averted their eyes, until Burt ( _?_ ) spoke.

'Um. Sherlock, we uh, heard of what happened. Um, we wanted to, you know, erm, apologise. We had no idea he was that sick in the head. I mean, not for being gay - there's nothing wrong with that. Just that he'd uh, he'd do what he did. We just thought he was being funny, that's all. You know, just some fun amongst, eh. I mean, it's not like, em, we're not like him. Well uh, that's it. Sorry. We didn't know.'

And they walked away.

Sherlock blinked. He frowned, shook his head and continued walking.

'Sherlock!'

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he turned, Janine was staring at him, a bit alarmed.

'I heard, I mean-. I'm sorry. Are you all right?'

'Yes.'

'If you uh, ever need to talk, please, know you can trust me, all right?' She touched his arm lightly.

He frowned slightly, then "smiled with great difficulty". 'I know.'

'And if you want me to leave you alone I will too. I just hope- I hope we can continue-'

'I need some time to think, if you don't mind. Have to sort my head.'

'Oh yes. Of course. I understand.' She looked down, her eyes filling up.

'Janine,' he touched her arm, lowering his face to look at hers.

She held her tears and understood him. 'Me too.' Then she made an effort to smile. 'You still have my number. Call me anytime, will you? If anything, just so we can talk shop.' That's how they always referred to their Chemistry talks.

'Thank you.'

She smiled and continued on her way to class.

...

' **All right there? John'**

 **_'Fine. Do you know what's going on? S'**

 **'Apparently word got around that he tried to rape you. John'**

 **_'I gathered that much. What I mean is, why is everybody acting weird? I had several embarrassed people come and say strange things to me, some that I don't even know. Some of the teachers pulled me aside all awkwardly, saying they'd let me take their tests alone at a later date if I wanted. Had I known I wouldn't have bothered to come in. S'**

 **'Sherlock, people feel bad for you. They think you're traumatised and want to show their support. John'**

 **_'Janine seemed to think I didn't want to see her again. Not that I want to, obviously. I don't understand why she's acting like this, but I took advantage of the opportunity and told her I "needed some time to think". She was sad, understanding, supportive and cheerful. I don't understand. S'  
** **_'Even his friends apologised to me. I am baffled. S'**

 **'Goes to show they were under Sebastian's influence. Now that he's gone they might end up being nice blokes. Spineless dumb bastards! John'**

 **_'Does this mean we won't need to train anymore? S'**

 **'No, it means that this Summer we'll both take classes with Mr. Bart. Then we will both be ready if that bastard ever shows up again. And by God, I hope he does. John'**

 **_'So I don't get Yorkies anymore? They'll all go to Mr. Bart? S'**

 **'No, now you'll get them from your boyfriend. Every date. John'  
** **'Next year we might not need to hide it or have you change schools, if this continues like this. John'  
** **'And I look forward to it. Your boyfriend, John.'  
** **'(In case you were wondering who would be giving you chocolate from now on). ;) John'**

 **_'Why wait until next year then? S'**

 **'Sherlock, in all seriousness, I still worry about you. I want to see that they continue to treat you with the respect you deserve. John'  
** **'Plus, n** **o one would believe you would be able to recover from that trauma that quickly. It might still be better to start next year. And I promise you, I will. John.  
'From day one. John'  
** **'But the chocolate offer still stands. :) John'**

 **_'My house today. S'**

 **'Can't wait. John'**

 **_'Wait an hour. S'**

 **'Why? What's wrong? John'**

 **_'Nothing's wrong. Just give me an hour after classes. S'**

 **'All right. John'  
** **'Can I go back to "J"? It's easier. John'**

 **_'There are two of you now. How about "JW"? S'**

 **'Still think it's silly to sign texts, but okay. JW'**

 **_'Later. S'**

 **'Later. JW'**

...

He opened the door and John was smiling at him, with a small paper bag in his hand. He offered it.

'For you.'

He took it as he stepped aside to let John in. It was a bagful of Yorkies.

'John, are you trying to fatten me up? Because mummy has tried for years and failed,' he said with utmost seriousness.

'No, I'm just trying to sweeten you up,' he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist, 'just so I can take advantage of you.' And kissed him slowly. 'Are you wearing (...) anything (...) under that (...) dressing gown?'

'Mmnope.'

'Mmm,' he teased with a quick eyebrow waggle, sliding his hands down Sherlock's back, cupping and squeezing him.

Sherlock backed away and, taking his hand, guided him upstairs.

John sat down on the bed and pulled Sherlock on his lap. They embraced and started kissing, enjoying their moment together. Then John pulled away with a worried look, 'Sherlock, you set the limits. If you're not comfortable, we'll stop.'

He frowned. 'What are you on about?'

'You know, if this reminds you...,' he trailed off looking down to the side.

'Of Sebastian trying to rape me? Don't be daft! You are nothing like him. Now shut up and kiss me. I've waited the whole day for this.'

John rolled his eyes. 'Git. I'll kiss you all right.'

'Damn timemmf.'

...

He raised himself on his forearms.

'Sherlock? What's wrong? You're trembling.'

'John. I asked for an hour so I could prepare.'

'Prepare? For what?'

'I bought -' Sherlock reached for the drawer on his bedside table and pulled out a small bag, 'supplies.'

John rolled away and sat up to look into the bag. He gasped. 'Sherlock!'

He too sat up. 'I thought, maybe, if you want to try. I showered.'

'Sherlock. Are you sure?'

'Yes,' he said breathlessly. 'If you want to.'

'Sherlock, I don't know. Wait. Are you for some stupid reason trying to "lose your virginity" because of what happened?'

'John, that night I was certain Sebastian was going to rape me and there was nothing I could do to stop him. All I could think of was how I regretted you wouldn't be the first.'

'Sherlock, that's the trauma messing with you. This is too soon for you. I want you to want it, not because you were scared of that- that monster.'

'I am ready.'

'I'm sorry but I don't think you are. This has affected you more than you think. You were trembling, you don't want this, not even with me. It scares you, doesn't it? Look, you're not even hard anymore.'

'I'm just nervous, that's all.'

John sighed, pushed the bag away and leaned back on one arm, guiding him down, then caressing his face. 'Sherlock, I don't think you're ready. Neither am I. When we're truly ready, we will know.' And he kissed him tenderly, keeping his distance this time.

Only when he felt Sherlock had finally relaxed he reached forward with his knee, finding a way between his legs. He let his thigh slide up and down, their skins smooth against each other's. Sherlock urged him to come back on top of him, but he didn't move. He was going to take it slow this time. He was going to make it memorable for Sherlock, perhaps even use some of the "supplies".

He had an idea. _Oh yes, Sherlock. I'll show you there is no need to force yourself into something you don't want when this is so good._

'Oh for God's sake, John! You're going to torture me again today, aren't you?'

'Damn right I am. And you're going to love what I'm going to show you.'

Sherlock gave an exasperated grunt that lost its effect when it ended in a squeak.

.

* * *

 **A/Note** : Warning, tomorrow is the last chapter. Review while you can! :)


	29. Daily routine

**A/Note:** Thanks to all the reviews, wow! I'll reply to all after I post this. **I hate mosquitos** had a point: a lot of the problems could've been solved with communication. But if you think about it, that's how Sherlock is in the show, as well as in the ACD's stories. He always keeps things to himself. I like to think that John will slowly change him and turn him into a "good man", not just "a great man" (DI Lestrade).

In any case, this is my first published story without a beta, so it wasn't as tight as it could be. I don't mind the criticism, though. That's what fanfiction is all about, that's how we can improve as writers. I do want to thank all of you who have been reading, following, favoriting and reviewing it. I can't express how rewarding and fun this is.

Without further ado, here's the last chapter. I mean it. This is the end. This is the reward for the bad times that you had to endure. :)

* * *

.

 **29\. Daily routine**

John finished drying himself and stumbled into the bedroom naked, sitting down with a grunt, shoulders drooping a little.

'God, I'm knackered.'

Sherlock had been typing on his laptop, but paused to look as John entered the room and sat on the bed. His lips curled up as his eyes slid over the hardened muscles and he clicked his laptop shut.

'You handled the murderer with your usual dexterity and quite a lot of flourish today.'

John snorted. 'Flourish? I just couldn't help throwing him on that ridiculous fountain of his. Smug bastard with airs of importance!'

Sherlock crawled forward and knelt behind John, kneading his shoulders.

'Oh, that feels good, Sherlock.'

'If you lie down I'll give you a massage.'

John stood up grunting again, 'Let me get a towel to line the bed then. I just laundered the sheets.'

Groaning, John lowered himself onto his stomach, crossing his arms under his cheek. Sherlock pulled a small bottle from the bedside drawer.

'You sound like a door with rusty hinges,' Sherlock said.

'Oh, shut up.'

'Lucky for you, I can oil your hinges,' he chuckled. 'Let me warm up the oil for a bit.' He poured some in his palm and held it.

Sherlock added, 'It was entertaining to see his face as he stood up from the water in his expensive, drenched and hopelessly ruined suit.'

'He wouldn't have ended up in the fountain if he hadn't insulted you.'

Sherlock smirked, 'Ah John, always so chivalrous. You know those type of insults don't bother me.'

John felt the bed dip and Sherlock's thighs aligning with his.

'Yeah, I know. But they bother me. If Greg hand't shown up I would have punched him some more. Oooh, that feels good.'

'Could you perhaps also throw Anderson and Donovan in the water next time?'

'You know, we are still guests of the Yard in these cases. Better not get them too angry, Sherlock.'

'Then I'll settle for you throwing Mycroft in the water someday, preferably soon. I can already picture his face at his ruined suit.'

John chuckled. 'He's now officially my brother-in-law, Sherlock. Show some respect. He has always been supportive of us and is always nice to me.'

Sherlock wrinkled his nose, 'He's still annoying.'

'Yeah, sometimes. Agree.'

'He's just envious I have you.'

'You think? It's hard to tell with him, he keeps his emotions completely hidden.'

Sherlock made an annoyed huff, so John added, 'And before you think that that was a compliment, you too keep yours well under wraps. I just learned how to read you, that's all.'

'Have you noticed he gained two pounds?'

'Can't say that I have, Sherlock. I don't monitor his body. I prefer looking at yours.'

Sherlock smiled at that.

'Hmmm. Oh, this feels so good, I needed this.' John sighed. 'You still have a thing for my back, don't you?'

Sherlock made a non-committal noise.

'Even after all these years and all my scars.'

'I love your scars, they are a symbol of who you are. And also, they brought you back to me.'

'Sentimentality, Mr. Sociopath?'

'No, just a statement of facts.'

'Uh-huh, sure.'

'I'm just glad you were discharged after your injury. There was just too much _eye candy_ around you,' he wrinkled his nose. 'Every time you were deployed I was convinced you'd meet someone else and dump me.'

'Sherlock, I've told you a million times; that was not the time and place for that, I was always too busy taking care of my patients. Plus, the only men that ever made my head turn were the ones that reminded me of you - not that many, as all of us had buzz cuts. And I was always disappointed and uninterested when I saw they weren't you.' He smiled, 'I often thought that maybe one day Mycroft would pull his strings and you would show up at Camp to surprise me.'

'I've asked him several times but he always refused to do it. "Too dangerous", he'd say.'

'Hey, he was right about that. And it all worked out in the end.'

'Except for Mr. Perfect Rugby Captain ending up at the same camp.'

'Argh, Sherlock. Will you ever forget Allan? I was sixteen! Plus, the camp was huge, we weren't even in the same areas most of the time.'

 _'Most.'_

'Okay, you're not helping me relax.'

'Maybe this will?'

John jolted slightly as he felt bare skin on top of his back. 'When did you take off your dressing gown?'

'Just as you lay down. I would have gotten oil all over the sleeves if I had kept it on.'

'Mmm, this feels good. But Sherlock, fair warning: I'm too knackered for sex.'

'Consider this a "full body massage", then.'

With the massage oil, Sherlock's warm skin was gliding easily on top of him. The shins were a little too bony on his calves, but the thighs and the chest felt really good. And of course, there was something firmer rubbing between his cheeks.

'I need to get a different massage oil. I can't kiss your nape and taste your skin if it's covered with it.'

'I guess you'll have to settle for kissing me on the lips then.' John twisted his face and they kissed for a while.

Sherlock broke the kiss so he could use one of his hands to spread the oil and fit himself between John's thighs.

'You've got me addicted to this, ever since that first time I bought lubricant.'

'Problem?'

'Nope.'

'I knew you had a thing for my back, thought you'd like this.' He enjoyed feeling Sherlock taking charge of what felt good for him.

'Sherlock, you must also have a thing for me punching people. I swear, every time I get into a fight you seem to want to jump me.'

'No, I think it has more to do with the end of a case.'

'An end usually brought up by a fight.'

'Mere coincidence.'

'Suuure.'

'Shut up, John.'

After some breathy rubbing, Sherlock paused to rest and said, 'I'm just glad that both of us got past our hang ups.'

'Speaking of which...' John surprised Sherlock and pushed against the mattress, flipping both of them, quickly turning on top of him and holding his wrists. He knew Sherlock loved this, a reminiscent of their wrestling days.

'I thought you said you were too knackered?' he smirked raising an eyebrow.

'You've managed to convince me.' He let go of the wrists and gestured, so both moved on top of the towel. John lowered himself for a kiss.

Sherlock hummed contentedly, his hands gliding easily up and down that back that he never got tired of. He did still love touching it, a pleasure (perhaps) surpassed only by also being allowed to squeeze John's perfect little tush.

John slid one hand down his chest, towards the side and hip. Sherlock bent his leg and pushed on the mattress not only so he could press against John, but also guide the callused hand to curve around his bum and the back of his thigh. John moved to kiss and gently suck on Sherlock's neck, while his hand meandered back up on the inside of the thigh, all the way up to-.

John halted and lifted himself up, frowning. 'When did you put this on?'

'After I showered, while you were showering, obviously.'

'You cocky bastard! You were very sure of yourself, weren't you?'

'I knew you were tired - mmg -,' he sighed. 'I just thought I'd make it easier for you and save some time.' He stretched his arm, grabbed a small bottle and handed it to John. 'But yes, I do know how to convince you.'

'Careful with what you wish for, Sherlock, I'm very convinced right now.'

'Show, don't tell.'

'Oh, I'll show you all right. You might regret it tomorrow whenever you try to sit down.'

'Less talking, more actio- ng!'

Sherlock closed his eyes and smiled as John chuckled in his ear.

.

J+S

* * *

.

In a darkened high rise luxury flat, a man in a suit stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass staring at the city lights. On the foreground was the iconic Bank of China, with its trademark zig zag pattern. The Two IFC Centre rose in the background, taller than everything around it. A most obvious phallic symbol, not only for its shape but also by its sheer size.*

' "The tallest building on this side of the harbour", they say. Why is it that mankind is always so fixated on comparing the size of their phalli?' He chuckled, mimicking a spoiled child, 'Mine is bigger! No, mine is bigger, look, look!' His voice went back to normal, 'Such confidence, such arrogance! All of their high tech security means nothing to me. They won't even know what hit them.'

The man turned around and smiled, hands still in his pockets. His hooded eyes glided down slowly, then made their way up again. 'Although in some instances size can be _hugely_ \- entertaining - I'll concede to that. People just never learn, it's not about how big it is, but how one uses it.'

Another man in a suit had been waiting by the door with his large hands clasped in front of him, legs apart. Only when addressed he moved and approached. He was tall, shaven headed, with a thick neck and a massive chest.

The first man spoke again, 'I'm so glad you brought my attention to Sherlock Holmes. I haven't been bored ever since he started meddling with my affairs.'

'I thought you might like meeting him,' the shaven headed man smirked. 'We have history. And an old score to settle.'

'Ah, my dear, such a long memory! Don't worry. Leave it to me and soon you'll enjoy seeing him dance.' He turned towards the view again.

'I'll see General Shan now. The usual way, so she won't see me.'

 _._

 _The end_

* * *

.

 **A/Notes** :

* Hong Kong.

Somehow I can't picture Sherlock saying "arse".

Sorry for the open end. It just felt unreal that Sebastian would simply disappear. But do not fear for Sherlock and John, dear readers. In my AUs the Reichenbach Fall never happened, nor Sherlock "died", much less John ended up with Mary. Nothing against her. Or Janine.

Also, I know the timing and the technology seems off, but hey, this is an AU after all, maybe the bedroom scene is way in the future.

Thanks again guys. I hope to have another story ready to be published after the holidays. Hope to see you then. Happy holidays to all of you and happy shipping.

BJ


End file.
